


The Mudblood of Slytherin

by nickahontas



Series: The Mudblood of Slytherin [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Magic, Dark Sirius Black, F/M, Gen, Goblins, Horcrux Hunting, House Elves, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Rituals, Self-Insert, Slytherin, Wards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickahontas/pseuds/nickahontas
Summary: A college student is reborn as Ted Tonks's little sister. She is determined to learn all that she can in order to vanquish Voldemort before Halloween of 1981. At any cost, by any means. That intense ambition and utter ruthlessness has the Hat sort her, a known muggleborn, into Slytherin._____________________I got tired of reading OCs and SIs and AUs that did nothing to change to the plot so here we are.
Relationships: Regulus Black/Original Female Character
Series: The Mudblood of Slytherin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129373
Comments: 421
Kudos: 1540
Collections: 5 Star HP Works, A Collection of Beloved Inserts, Fics That I Wouldn't Mind Losing Sleep Over, Not to be misplaced, best fic collection ever read, fics that were so good i didn't finish my homework





	1. Lucy the Great and Terrible

“Tonks, Lucille.” McGonnagal called. 

Whispers and hisses echoed from the right side of the Great Hall. From the Slytherin side. They knew the story of Ted Tonks and Andromeda Black. They still resented the eldest Tonks’s audacity. They were still furious a mudblood convinced a Black to sully her honor and that of her family. They were furious and resentful, but they were curious. The first Tonks was a nuisance and the war hadn’t truly begun then. What would the littlest Tonks prove capable of?   
  
Lucille Tonks was a cute little girl. Plump and round cheeked with thick blonde braids. She was surprisingly graceful, surprisingly prideful. A few of the Slytherins shifted in their seats. That was the way a Black held themselves, the way a pureblood child was raised to be. Andromeda Tonks had done unspeakable things, betraying things, if this little girl was any indication. It was one thing to cast off her family’s legacy for a mudblood. It was another thing to tell that mudblood their secrets. 

The Hat lowered onto her head and laughed. It laughed and laughed, a booming sound that echoed over the Hall. McGonnagal stared down at it nervously. 

Then, when the cackling subsided to a chuckle, it cried, “SLYTHERIN!”

Everyone froze. Everyone knew the story of Ted Tonks and Andromeda Black. They knew he was a muggleborn. They knew this little girl was his sister. They knew of the war being fought beyond the castle walls. 

It seemed the girl did too. Her big blue eyes widened and she pulled the Hat further down onto her head, casting her childish face in shadow.   
  
The Hat laughed again.

“Oh no, Miss Tonks. I’ll not be sorting you anywhere else. You are meant for great things. Terrible, yes, but great.” It laughed again, like it had told a joke only it could understand. “You will not achieve that greatness anywhere other than Slytherin.”

The girl clutched the stool in a white knuckled grip. 

The Headmaster, who had been warring with himself on his throne, suddenly stood tall, resplendent in gold robes.

“Hat, perhaps it would be wisest-“

“Nonsense, Albus. I haven’t seen a hunger like this since Tom Marvolo Riddle himself.”

Albus Dumbledore paused. His fearful eyes darkened as they cut to the girl frozen on the stool beneath him. 

“Go, Miss Tonks,” the Hat said. “Go and be terrible and great and come back to me so I can say I told you so.”  
  


* * *

  
Later that night, Lucy Tonks sat up straight in her bed with her wand gripped tight in her hands. She stared at the emerald canopies and recited every spell she knew. She did not sleep that night. She would not sleep for two more.


	2. The Snake in the Dungeons

Lucy hated Hogwarts. She loved magic, practiced and studied it with something bordering on reverence. She’d never felt anything like it either of her lives. Magic set her heart soaring, made her stomach swoon with anticipation, and made her eyes sting with wondering adoration. 

School did the opposite. She was essentially a twenty something- thirty something now?- studying third grade material. That also meant she lived with them. She was surrounded by the cretins almost second of the day. As if that weren’t enough, they were all a bunch of racist little shits with a personal grudge against her last name. She spent most of her days in the library and empty classrooms, avoiding the common room until the very last minute. She spent her nights dodging curses and hexes and ignoring sneers and whispers. The worst had been a sickly yellow jet of light that melted the stones. 

The third night, the night her body had finally collapsed, she’d woken up to someone screaming. A third year girl had tried to break into her trunk. The very trunk Lucy had warded with the most complicated thing she could find in the library. Lucius Malfoy had strode in, saw the third year with burnt, bleeding hands, looked at Lucy’s proud smile, and rolled his eyes. He yelled at Lucy for being a mudblood, at the girl for losing to a mudblood, and at both of them for waking him up. Lucy had rubbed her sleep swollen eyes and asked how his hair looked so good. He had not been amused. 

They didn’t manage to land a hit until the first Monday. Even then it had been her own fault. She’d gone around a corner to find an older Ravenclaw bullying Severus Snape and Violet Brown. She stood over her fellow snakes and raised her wand defiantly. The boy laughed and sent off another jinx. Lucy dodged. It hit Snape, but she used the opportunity to yell “DIFFINDO!”. He screamed as a red line opened across his cheek. 

“Leave or it’ll be your throat next.”

It wouldn’t have. Lucy couldn’t kill a fly, let alone a boy, but he didn’t know that. He ran off with his hand pressed against his bleeding cheek. Lucy turned around to find Brown and Snape scurrying away. 

“We don’t need your help, you filthy little mudblood,” Brown spat. 

“Apparently you do,” a cold voice drawled. 

There was the clacking of heels on stone, then Narcissa Black stepped out from behind the corner. She had the same natural grace and haughty beauty as her sister, only Andromeda didn’t have that nasty glint in her eyes. She waited until the others hauled themselves to their feet and grabbed their things, then silently ordered them back to the common room. There, she hit Snape and Brown with a barrage of stinging hexes. 

“Worthless,” she hissed. “Pathetic. You let yourselves be overtaken by one Ravenclaw and then have to be saved by a mudblood. A _mudblood_. You are shame to our house.”

She cursed them one final time before rounding on Lucy. Lucy stared up at her defiantly. A thousand insults came to mind, almost all of them involving Andromeda and Bellatrix, but she kept her mouth shut. She had more important things to do than die at the ripe age of eleven. Narcissa, however, must have seen them all on her face. She raised her wand and intoned a curse. Some of the sixth and seventh years watching chuckled. Lucius Malfoy looked as though he was going to ravage Narcissa right there in front of them all. 

“Run along, little ones, before you’re late. If you lose any points for this, I’ll hex you into the ground again.”

The three of them did not hesitate. They rushed through the wall and down the corridor. They didn’t dare stop until they were panting at the top of a tight spiral staircase. 

“Where are we supposed to be?” Brown asked. Her hands were shaking as she tried to rearrange her blonde curls. Part of Lucy wondered if this girl would be Lavender Brown’s mother, but she was too preoccupied with Narcissa’s curse. She didn’t recognize the Latin and she felt fine. Any curse from a Black that didn’t leave you begging for mercy couldn’t be good. 

“Potions,” Snape grumbled. 

He winced as he rearranged the strap of his bag, but set his shoulders back and led them through the archway. Already displaying his badass side. At eleven. No eleven year old should have to be a badass. 

Yes, Lucy definitely hated Hogwarts. 

The resentment churning in her stomach worsened when they came across a group of children dressed in red and green. The last thing she needed was a bunch of brats feuding with each other in a dark room filled with dangerous fumes. 

“Sev!” A pretty redhead called. 

She hopped over to Snape and began bombarding him with cheerful questions. Brown scoffed. She toyed with strap of her designer bag, stealing a glance at Lucy through her hair. 

“Are you alright?” She whispered. 

Lucy shrugged. 

Brown frowned. “That can’t be good.”

Lucy sighed in agreement. 

“Thanks, by the way. I...I shouldn’t have called you that. I was just embarrassed and angry.”

“Won’t you just fuck off?” Lucy said, surprising herself with her own bluntness. 

“There’s no need to be crass!” Brown cried. She shoved past the both of them to join their dorm-mates across the hall. 

Slughorn appeared not soon after. He chortled and beamed as they walked through the door. Lucy threw herself into a seat in the back corner, glaring at anyone that got to near. She outright showed her teeth at Peter Pettigrew. In the end, she had the entire table to herself. Until Sirius Black and James Potter barreled through and collapsed into the seats across from her, at least. Lucy wanted to cry. There was no possible way the day could get any worse. 

“Has he started yet?” Potter asked. 

Lucy scowled. He cowered on his stool. 

“Hey! You’re that Tonks girl!” Black said. “You know my cousin?”

“Yes, I know your bitch of a cousin! That cunt just fucking hexed me.”

Both boys jumped back in alarm. Sirius connected the dots first. He whistled lowly. 

“I wasn’t talking ‘bout Narcissa, but she’s always a right bitch. What’d she do?”

“Good afternoon, students!” Slughorn called. He peered at them from over his ridiculous mustache. “Now it looks like you’re all here, but I’ll be taking roll just in case. First, Yvonne Adams?”

“Here.”

Lucy slumped over the table, stewing in her misery. All she’d try to do was protect her fellow Slytherins, show some sort of house solidarity, but noooo. Apparently, they’d rather suffer than be saved by a mudblood, the idiots. She’d spent most of the weekend practicing shields and curses in an empty classroom and she’d be damned before she wasted her hard work on those ungrateful brats again. 

A sharp pain in her shin cut into her thoughts. 

“Lucy Tonks?” Slughorn asked. He swished his wand to brighten the lights. “Ah, there you are! With your cousin, I see. Oh dear, are you quite alright, my girl? You’re looking a bit pale.”

“Fuck off,” she snapped. 

The class gasped. Across from her, Potter and Black looked as though Christmas had come early. 

“I beg your pardon?” Slughorn asked. 

“You can take my pardon and shove it up your fat ass.”

“Miss Tonks! Now, I understand this is a difficult-“

“You don’t understand shite you unctuous wanker.”

“Lucy, if you keep this up I’ll have to take points.”

“Take your motherfucking points, you slimy git. They’re only a way to promote ass kissing. It’s all anyone knows how to fucking do. If they’re not trying to suck Dumbledore’s cock, they’re bending over for Voldemort to fuck them up the ass.” 

The dungeon was deathly silent. Sirius Black had tears in his eyes. Slughorn waved his wand with a shaking hand. Lucy braced herself, her hands tight on the stool. This was it. She was going to be expelled. She’d never get the diadem. She’d have to lie and say she wanted to run upstairs and say goodbye to someone. Sirius, maybe? The Grey Lady? Who else lived upstairs? She didn’t have any friends in any part of the castle. 

“Finite incantatum,” Slughorn said. 

White light flashed and a warm feeling rushed through her body. 

“Miss Tonks?” Slughorn asked. 

“Yes, Professor?”

“Tell me about your favorite potion.”

“The Polyjuice Potion is an incredibly complex concoction that...Sweet! Thanks, Professor!” Then, sheepishly she added, “Sorry.”

Slughorn stared at her for a moment before he turned his attention to the class. “That, ladies and gentlemen, was the cursing curse in action. It lowers the victim’s inhibitions and replaces their vocabulary with foul language.”

“Please, Professor,” Violet Brown said. “Don’t take any points. We were ambushed by a fourth year Ravenclaw and Lucy stood up for us. I’ve got the stinging welts to prove it.”

Slughorn was quite for a long time. “I am the Head of Slytherin. Do not lie to me again, Miss Brown.”

“Yes, Professor,” Violet murmured.

“Class is dismissed, I think. Seeing a child cursed by a near adult ruins one’s inspiration. I expect a ten inch essay on the Calming Drought.”

“Yes, Professor,” they intoned. 

“Then I will see you all on Monday.”

Lucy let her feet lead her through the halls. She found herself standing outside a portrait of a fat lady on the seventh floor. She stood there wondering how different this new life could have been and how much worse it was going to get. 

The weeks passed. Lucy kept her head down, only bringing attention to herself in class. She felt a little guilty for succeeding, but she wouldn’t be able to excel if she focused her efforts on academic anonymity. Her worst subject was transfiguration and even then McGonnagal assigned her alternate work. She skived off history to practice dueling and study wards. Her trunk would give a NEWT student pause. 

Everything came to a head in the third week of October. The upper years came in from Hogsmeade half drunk and carrying a crate between them. Lucy looked up from where she sat against the window, trying to decide if she could sneak back to her bed. Her roommates ignored her for the most part, and the older girls had stopped trying to get in her trunk after their third attempt sent Mia Mercier to the hospital wing. 

Yes, she decided. They’re too drunk to notice me. 

She closed her history book and skirted around the room. She kept to the walls, giving the upper years a wide birth. 

It was Lucius Malfoy that stopped her. 

“You. Mudblood,” he called. She cursed under her breath. The third years she was standing behind cleared out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She didn’t say anything. She just gripped her wand and studied his figure across the room. He was annoyingly handsome. There was something inherently masculine in his appearance despite his long, white hair and glittering robes. She respected him, much in the way she suspected he was beginning to respect her. There was nothing wrong with respecting one’s enemies. Some might even call it wise.

“Well?” He drawled. “Snake got your tongue?”

A few of his friends laughed. Narcissa Black watched him with adoration in her eyes. 

“I’m going to my room. I don’t want any trouble.”

Malfoy tutted in faux disappointment. “Now that’s a lie. A mudblood can’t come to the dungeons without wanting trouble.”

“It wasn’t my choice. I tried to get sorted into Ravenclaw. You heard the Hat. It wouldn’t even budge for Dumbledore.” 

“Ah, yes. Great and terrible and hungry.” His sneer suddenly dropped into a frown. “Did it tell you who Tom Marvolo Riddle was?”

She chewed on her lip. It would be stupid. Foolish. Word had probably gotten back to him somehow. There was no reason to speed things along on that front. 

“You do know,” Malfoy crooned. “Will you tell us? Or will you let me make you?”

Fuck it, there was plenty reason to speed things along with Snakeface. 

“I’ll show you,” Lucy blurted. 

Malfoy raised a brow. “Indeed?”

Unfortunately, most of Lucy’s passive magic came out bubblegum pink. Her handwriting was even more embarrassing. It always had been. So it was with big sloppy pink letters that Tom Marvolo Riddle rearranged itself into I Am Lord Voldemort. She managed to count to ten before Malfoy broke the eerie silence. 

“You dare?” He hissed. 

“I can’t help that my magic-“

“Release it.”

A few boys cheered. One of them, it might have been Rosier, flicked his wand at the crate. Lucy watched, gulping, as it creaked open. 

The head rose first. Lurid orange and triangular with slitted red eyes. It was a snake that she’d never seen before. It could have been a ball python if it weren’t for its obviously magical nature. It danced up and up and up and climbed out, it’s heavy bulk thudding on the carpet. It hissed happily. 

“There. Her,” Malfoy ordered. 

The beast followed the line of his wand and focused on Lucy’s trembling figure. It’s mammoth bulk curved and flexed as it slithered in her direction. Lucy cast every spell she knew. Everything, even the bone breaking one she’d read in Andy’s grimoire, bounced off. The carpet singed. Chair legs broke. Stuffing exploded. She screamed them all again and again, hoping against all probability that something would hit. Curse upon curse erupted from her wand with the force of grown witch. They were blinding and powerful and they did nothing. 

The snake paused not a foot from her. It eyed her curiously, it’s lipless mouth quirked into a smirk. It hissed something, reared it’s head back, and just as it was about to strike, two words broke the tense silence. 

“AVADA KEDAVRA.”

The murky green of the Slytherin common room lit up a bright, brilliant chartreuse. The snake fell to the floor with a haunting thump. Lucy’s heart pumped painfully hard. It pulsed in her ears, throbbed in her teeth. 

She licked her lips, finally tearing her gaze away from the body at her feet. Lucius Malfoy stared down at her with a dangerously pale face. 

She could do it. It had been easy, so easy. It hurt, yes, but no more than pulling a muscle in her chest. The pain was already ebbing away. Lucius couldn’t be much more intelligent than a snake. He was an animal, a murderer. He wasn’t an innocent. 

Something cold burned through her veins. The Bloody Baron floated in front of her. His piercing black eyes met her own. Slowly, as thought not to startle her, he raised his wrists. The metal cuffs clanked ominously. 

Lucy sucked in a breath. Right. He’d spent eternity shackled with regret and shame. Her fate would be nearly so kind. She doubted she could become a ghost after the dementors devoured her soul. 

“Right,” she murmured to herself. She nodded, tapping her wand against her thigh nervously. Louder, she said, “Right. I’m going to get my trunk and one of you is going to shrink it for me. I am going to leave you lot alone and you’ll do the same for me. You good with that?”

Nobody agreed, but nobody spoke against it either. She went to get her trunk, waited patiently as a sixth year shrunk it, and began the long trek up the stairs. She spent that night in the Room of Requirement. The next day, the Bloody Baron silently led her back to the dungeons. They came to halt outside a simple wooden door. It swung open to reveal a dark, musty room with a rusted sink and half rotted shelves. It might have been an old broom closet or an abandon end professor’s office. Either way, it was hers now. It was where she would spend the next seven years of her life. 


	3. Magic Puzzles

Lucy became a bit of a thief. Most of her trophies came from the Room of Requirement. She spent more and more time there, filtering through the piles of junk. She’d amassed a small fortune of coins and had a nice pile of jewels hidden in her trunk. She planned to take them to Gringotts as soon as she was old enough to go on her own. 

There were even more books. Useless books on breeding flobberworms and carving cheese. Ancient, crumbling books about runes and battles long since forgotten. Her favorites were the spellbooks. Some were banned, tossed in the room by students escaping punishment. Others were outdated textbooks with spells deemed obsolete or illegal. There were even a few that looked like they might have belonged in a family library. She handled those with dragonhide gloves. She wouldn’t put it past some of the purebloods to hex their books against people like her. 

Time passed slowly. Dumbledore tried to move her up a year or two, but Mum refused. She thought it best for Lucy to be around children her own age. It was very sweet, if not exasperating. In the end, the professors gave her alternate assignments. She was allowed to turn in weekly reports on history instead of attending Binns’s class. Dumbledore watched her grow warily. She tried to put his mind at ease, but it never worked. He might have loved her, maybe even cherished her, if the Hat had put her in Ravenclaw. 

She never really made friends until her later years. After their first Christmas holiday, Violet Brown didn’t ostracize her like the rest of the Slytherins did. They even began eating together in fifth year. Severus Snape hunted her down when they were fifteen. They spent hours dueling and debating theory. She even helped him work out the kinks in a few of his spells. 

Lucy avoided the so-called Marauders as often as she could. It proved more difficult than she liked. All of the castle knew about her, the girl who was rumored to cast an unforgivable at eleven, got six Outstanding OWLS her fourth year, and outed the Dark Lord’s true name. They feared her just as much as Voldemort was intrigued by her. Of course the four troublemakers would be drawn to her like a moth to a flame. 

Everyone thought she was someone to be feared so she kept the image up as well as she could. She wasn’t placed in Slytherin for her ambition alone. Lucy wasn’t the next Dumbledore or Voldemort. She was intelligent and driven, but she didn’t possess half the power they did. For all the hours she practiced dueling, it didn’t come naturally to her. She didn’t have the reflexes and quick thinking that people like Sirius Black and Severus Snape had. Lucy relied on plans and practice.

Her entire life revolved around one massive, insanely complex plan. It was mapped out in a heavily cursed journal hidden in her heavily warded bag that never left her heavily protected side. Each bullet point had its own page. Over time, the plan became more of a table of contents. There were plans for the plan. She had pages and pages of notes for each part. Some of it was legitimate research. Others were half-thoughts scribbled in the margins. 

The Table of Contents looked something like: 

  * Master Occlumency
  * Buy poison. QUICK!!(and preferably painless)
  * Buy tent. 
  * Learn 
    * Apparation
    * portkeys
    * fighting
    * wards
  * Master fiendfyre/get dagger & venom
  * look for another way to destroy horcuruxes
  * diadem
  * ring 
    * summer maybe? easier to find than cave.
  * buy house elf. 
    * escaping from cave/manor
    * how are they with gringotts/goblins?
  * destroy locket BEFORE RAB GRADUATES
  * contingency plans 
    * ted & andy obvs.
    * moody fo sho
    * amelia bones?
    * dumbledore, probs.
    * Lucy? Black? Potters? -- someone needs to know about peter if i die
  * join order 
    * prevents suspicion
    * closer to pettigrew
  * if fail -> go to godric's hollow
  * Fail again? STOP SIRIUS.
  * Better yet, don't fail.
  * Kill Pettigrew if neccessary.
  * Become Animagus? To escape Azkaban?
  * DO NOT GO TO AZKABAN.
  * Break into Malfoy home. Steal diary. Destroy it. Simple!
  * On second thought, maybe Azkaban>dying agin.
  * Study goblin laws and look for work around. 
    * Dumbledore?
    * Maybe let Vol get blown up first? Get cup after?
    * Flitwick?
    * Robbing is last option.
  * Live so I can see Queen and Nirvana and Tupac and maybe even the Backstreet Boys.



Every decision, every waking moment centered around the Table of Contents. To most, Lucy seemed to be an eccentric scholar. There could be no other reason a bright young girl would be so obsessed with warding and runes and ancient rituals and magic. The denizens of Hogwarts learned not to look twice at a Slytherin girl waving her wand at random walls and fixtures of the castle. For the longest time, it was just Lucy and the Hogwarts wards. Then, in sixth year, everything changed. 

A couple of firsties clamored out of their portrait hole one cold morning and came to an abrupt halt. An older Slytherin sat cross legged on the floor, her eyes bloodshot and sunken. The Gryffindors shuffled on their feet nervously. Lucy Tonks cast the killing curse and single handedly revealed You-Know-Who’s heritage all in her first year. Dumbledore looked at her funny. They could only guess what she did in her independent studies. One firstie nodded at the other grimly. Everyone knew not to go into the sixth year boy’s dormitories, but this was an emergency. If James Potter and Sirius Black couldn’t defend them, no one could. 

Well. Maybe except for Lily Evans. She scared even James Potter when she had a fit. 

The Gryffindors rushed back inside. Lucy hadn’t even noticed. She sat utterly enthralled by the wall. It was several moments before Sirius Black, James Potter, and Remus Lupin burst through the portrait. They stared in bewildered silence for a moment, then rounded on each other in furious hisses. Whatever argument they had, Sirius Black lost spectacularly. 

He approached with something that looked suspiciously like caution. 

“Hello, cousin,” he said.

Lucy jolted. She glanced over her shoulder and cringed. 

“Not your cousin,” she muttered before turning back to her work. 

“Now, now. There’s no need to be rude.”

She ignored him. Sirius hesitated before dropping to the floor beside her. She looked like shit. Her eyes were swollen and her hair was piled in a messy knot on top of her head. She hadn’t even changed out of her uniform from yesterday. 

“Luce, how long have you been working on that?”

“Dunno.”

“Well when did you start?”

“Dinner.”

“Right. Maybe it’s time you take a break.”

“Can’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Almost got it.”

“Got what?”

“Look for yourself.”

Sirius glanced at his friends uneasily before casting a personal revealing spell. The wall lit up in a maze of lights. He gaped. It was a tapestry of glowing threads, some new and strong, others old and frayed, and a select few ancient and sturdy. It was mesmerizing. 

“You’re breaking into our common room,” he said. 

“Yep,” she said. He watched, enthralled, as she twisted a pink cord around a golden one. It hummed with primordial magic. 

“Is that... _is that from Godric Gryffindor_?”

She turned to beam at him. Sirius, romance aficionado and two time consecutive winner of Hogwart’s Most Eligible Bachelor, had to blink several times to ground himself. It was easy to forget how beautiful she was. Everyone, even the Slytherins, could not deny that Lucy was one of the most tempting girls in school. She had the face of an angel and a body that promised all sorts of wickedness. Smiling like that, like she knew every secret in the world and was happy to share it with you, was dizzying. 

"What was that about cousins, Padfoot?" James asked. 

Lucy, thankfully, didn't seem to hear him. “Yes! It’s fascinating!" she was saying. "Every common room has different wards along with the usual Hogwarts ones. It took me weeks to figure them all out. It doesn’t help that students and professors have added their own over time, so they go all the way back to when the castle was built. Did you know the House colors are based on the Founder’s magic? You better thank god I wasn’t here because a quarter of us would be wearing pink and indigo.”

“Your magic is pink?” 

She waved him off. “Yeah, but it’s not just the colors that are so cool. It’s the magic itself! Ravenclaw was a breeze. It’s hardly warded beyond the standard protection spells and runes. Their founder was a scholar and didn’t really care if anyone got in as long as they were there to learn. It still applies today. That’s why they’ve got the eagle knocker.”

“....You’re telling me you broke through the wards of Ravenclaw Tower.”

“That was nothing. Slytherin’s weren’t even that difficult. I think he thought that if someone was sly enough to get in then his students deserved it. What was most difficult was preventing the wards from recognizing me as a Slytherin and pushing me through without any trouble. That and the Parselmagic. It’s everywhere, all throughout the castle. It’s even in some of the columns. I bet he had the best gossip. It was the Slytherin students that were so difficult to get by. I’m pretty sure I found Voldemort’s signature and I suspect Merlin left something that turns animagi into flobberworms, but I’m not completely positive that was his magic.”

Sirius paled. “Good to know.”

Potter stepped forward, eyeing the wall with wariness. “Sooo you’re breaking through everyone’s common rooms because...” 

“The Professors hardly ward their rooms at all. Slughorn’s took the longest and that was only forty seven minutes. This is amazing. There are runes here that I’d never even heard of. Godric Gryffindor was a fucking badass. Feel this.”

Sirius didn’t miss how she avoided the question. Instead of confronting her, he flicked his wand and a jet of light sped to ravel around the golden string she offered. Lucy canceled her own spell to give him more room to explore. Sirius poked and prodded as he wove through the lattice of protections. 

“It’s is a puzzle,” he whispered in awe. 

“Oh dear God, I’m going to go eat. He’ll be here for hours,” Lupin said. 

Potter groaned. “Sirius, mate, come on.”

“Nah, you lot go ahead. Go visit Peter. I’ll meet up with you later.”

Potter rolled his eyes, but he trudged off without further complaint. Lupin hesitated beside them. 

“I’m sorry about your mum,” he said. “I just lost mine too.”

Lucy gave him a small smile. “It’s alright. I’ve still got Ted. And at least it was natural and not...not him.”

He nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Keep an eye on Sirius, will you? We’ve got Charms at half nine.”

“Just tell Flitwick he’s working with me. It’ll probably make him happy.”

Flitwick was indeed very happy. He arrived at the Fat Lady’s portrait just before lunch with Minerva McGonnagal, who was decidedly less happy. The last thing she needed was Sirius Black armed with such catastrophic knowledge. Nevertheless, the professors conjured chairs and cast a universal revealing spell. A group of passing third years gaped at the sudden appearance of the wards. 

Sirius and Lucy were silent except for small exchanges and muttered curses. 

“Who’s this yellow line? It can’t be...”  
“Yep. That’s Helga Hufflepuff.”  
“But it’s so dark!”  
“You should see their common room. There’s a reason no one other than a Hufflepuff has been able to get in for centuries.”

“Fuck! That stung.”

“Goddamnit! Don’t touch that if you want to keep your fingers.”

“Bloody hell! What was that?”  
“Huh. You know, I think Voldemort put that on the dungeon. I wonder if he got it from here.”  
“But what does it do?”  
“I dunno. I felt him and didn’t play with it too much.”  
“But what does it do?!”  
“Something Voldemort appreciated.”  
“...right, moving on.”

Finally, at one in the afternoon, the wards suddenly flared to life and the Fat Lady’s portrait swung open. Professor Flitwick burst into applause.

“Well done, well done. Most impressive!” Flitwick cried. “A hundred points to you each for your success, and another fifty for such a heartwarming display of interhouse cooperation. I suspect you’ll want a tour of Gryffindor Tower, Miss Tonks?”

Lucy blinked. Her eyes were rimmed with red and burned something awful. 

“What time is it?” She asked. 

“It is just after one. When did you start?” Flitwick asked. 

“Six yesterday evening. Sirius jumped in at what? Nine?”

“Seven,” he said. 

“You broke through a thousand years worth the wards in less than twenty four hours?”  
McGonnagal asked incredulously. 

Lucy bit on her cheek to hide her smile. “Well, I’ve been working my way up so it wasn’t like the material was new or anything. It’s just a matter of solving the puzzle.”

“Indeed?” McGonnagal raised a brow. “And what, pray tell, are you working your way up to?”

“The Headmaster’s Office, of course.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. 

Flitwick hopped from foot to foot excitedly. “Fascinating! I daresay you could write a dissertation instead of taking the Charms NEWT. Though of course, neither of you would have a problem sitting them this very minute.”

“Please do not inflate Mr. Black’s ego further,” McGonnagal said, her twitching lip betraying her own amusement. 

Sirius smirked. “Oh, Minnie. You don’t have to hide your affections from me.”

“Tonks, come along for the tour,” Minnie snapped. 

She nearly dragged Sirius through the portrait. He could be heard saying something about eagerness and pleasure. Lucy shuddered despite herself. She had no doubt that Sirius would bang his teacher for shits and giggles. Hell, he’d probably blame Dumbledore just to know that he had. 

“Miss Tonks. A word.”

Lucy paused outside the entrance. Flitwick peered up at her with a dangerous glint in his eyes. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. 

“Miss Tonks. I am not so easily fooled. You are not a Ravenclaw. This is not a passion project, no matter how much you have enjoyed it. You are up to something. Something that will require you to get through complex wards. What are you planning, girl?”

She chewed on her lower lip and scratched at a groove in the stone wall as she weighed her options. Flitwick was hardly mentioned in the books. He seemed to be loyal to the school rather than the Order. In fact, he probably wasn’t even in the Order. What had the Ministry ever done for magical creatures? 

Lucy glanced down the hall, even peeking past the open portrait to ensure their privacy. When she was completely sure of it, she licked her lips nervously and looked down at her professor. 

“I’m going to rob Voldemort,” she said as quietly as she could. “He’s hidden several....things in several different locations. I don’t know what I need to know, so I’m not taking any chances. I figured if I can get past Dumbledore in his own castle I can get past anyone.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. And have you told Albus about these items?”

“No, and I don’t plan on it. I don’t trust him. It might be stupid, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I do have several contingency plans in place in the event of my disappearance or death, so he’ll know when he needs to.”

Flitwick let out a heavy sigh. “I must confess my relief. I was afraid you were thinking you could rob Gringotts.”

“No.” Not if I can help it. “I think I might have to bring Dumbledore in on that one.”

“Merlin’s beard,” Flitwick gasped. He stumbled back against the doorsill. “What ever have you got yourself into?”

She gave him a sad smile. “I didn’t choose this. I even thought about running away. Still don’t know why I haven’t, if I’m being honest.”

“Luce!” Sirius Black called. Flitwick and Lucy glanced over to find Sirius leaning into the other end of the tunnel. “You coming? Or can Minnie and I-“

“SIRIUS BLACK IF YOU FINISH THAT-“

He winked as he vanished from their sight. “Okay, okay. Don’t get yourself in a tizzy.”

“It’s for them, I think,” Lucy said slowly as she thought aloud. “I don’t have anybody, but that doesn’t mean everybody else should lose their somebodies.”

“There are many somebodies out there waiting for you. Take Mr. Black, for instance. Us teachers notice more than you’d think.”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved. It’s too dangerous for them.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re a Slytherin. Your kind are always great at finding loopholes in vows and laws.”

Lucy tilted her head thoughtfully. “That’s very clever of you, Professor.”

“I am a very clever wizard, Miss Tonks, and you are a very clever witch. Now forgive me, but I must prepare for class. Go and explore the Lion’s Den. Maybe invite Sirius to study or lunch? That boy could use a steady hand in his life.”

“You know, I think I might do that.”

She did something better. After the tour, she pulled him aside and invited him to spend Christmas with Nymph and Andy. He accepted cheerfully, then pulled Lucy down to the kitchens where they both fell asleep by the fire with full bellies and cozy blankets. 

The next day, Lucy made herself comfortable in front of the Hufflepuff common room. After that, it was Dumbledore’s office. And after that, she cornered Sirius Black at King's Cross. 

"Sirius," she said. "How would you like help me steal something from Lord Voldemort?"


	4. Safety Deposit Boxes

Sirius waved his arm to signal Lucy. She tilted her borrowed broom to set it on a gentle decline. She hadn’t initially planned on bringing anyone along, especially not Sirius fucking Black. He was smart, though. And good in a fight, and an animagus, and familiar with dark magic. Part of her would have preferred Severus. Another part of her, the part that she’d buried deep for so long, the part that wanted to race Sirius to the ground, was glad it wasn’t Severus. He was far too boring. 

In a sudden bout of energy, Lucy urged her broom forward. The wind thundered in her ears, the bright sky raced past, and the earth seemed to rush to meet her. She heard an indignant cry before a dark figure blurred past. The bastard was even upside down. Lucy frowned, determined not to be outdone, and threw herself against the smooth, wooden handle. 

Sirius twisted at the very last second to land deftly on his feet. Lucy pulled out of her dive and landed gracefully beside him. 

“I win,” he said, a wide smile cutting across his face. He had prominent canines. She wondered if he always had or if it was Padfoot bleeding through. 

“Show off,” she muttered. 

She tapped the broom with her wand. After it shrunk to a quarter of its height, she shoved it deep into her leather bag. Her bag was one of the rare things she allowed herself to splurge on. If she was going to die, she was going to do it in style. Lucy had always liked pretty things. She wouldn’t let destiny or fate or some stupid god take that from her too. 

“Right, so, where are we?” She asked. 

Her abysmal sense of direction was another reason to bring someone along. She’d probably somehow end up in the Falkland Islands if she tried to do this on her own. Granted, if she’d done it alone, she would have just used Muggle transportation. Apparating to a new place was never a good idea, especially for the inexperienced, and she didn’t know if Voldemort was keeping an eye on everything. Probably not, but it didn’t hurt to be safe. 

Sirius pulled the map out of the back pocket of his jeans to study it. 

“Looks like a few miles northeast through this forest and we’ll be there.”

“Is the village close to the trees?”

“Yeah, looks to be.”

“Okay. Then we should use our animagus forms.”

Sirius froze much like a dog that had caught a glimpse of a squirrel. 

“I don’t have an animagus form,” he grumbled, suddenly very concerned that the map was stowed away carefully.

Lucy bit back a smile. “Mm. Neither does James Potter, I presume.”

“Of course not, we’re far too young.”

“And definitely not Peter Pettigrew.“

“No. And neither does Lupin, so let’s move. We’ll need-“

“Cut the bullshit, Sirius. This is important, far more important than a stupid ministry law.”

“Fine,” he decided. What are you?”

“You’ll see.”

“No. You brought this up.”

“You won’t know what it is anyway.”

“Try me,” he demanded, setting his chin defiantly. 

Lucy straightened her spine. “I’m a raccoon.”

His scowl lightened to a confused frown. “A what?”

“It’s a small mammal native to North America.”

“Shift.”

“No. We need to talk first.”

“I want to see.”

“Sirius, this is important.”

He crossed his arms and planted his feet. Lucy groaned, throwing her hands up into the air. Maybe she should have brought Severus. Boring was safe. He would have simply taken the muggle train with her. They could have spent the day reading in a peaceful quiet or spent the hours perfecting their plans. 

Lucy took deep breaths to calm herself. She focused inward, pulling on her magic, imagining every part of the raccoon. With enough experience, she would be able to switch between forms in the blink of an eye. As it was, she hadn’t mastered the transformation until March. Three months didn’t make her an expert. 

Soon, the world grew. The trees towered over her. Light became brighter as the colors dulled and the scents sharpened. Lucy shifted her weight from side to side. The most jolting change wasn’t the tail or the near colorblindness. It was the sensitivity in her paws. Humans didn’t have anything like it. 

Sirius threw his head back in laughter. He laughed and laughed. And laughed. He laughed long enough to that she grew bored and decided look for a snack. That was another thing about raccoons. They were always hungry and always curious. They always wanted something to plunder into or a new place to explore. She couldn’t wait to go back to Hogwarts. 

“Merlin!” Sirius cried when he finally gathered himself. 

Lucy jerked, nearly falling into her bag. That would have been a nightmare to get out of. Would the curses allow Sirius to help her out? Shit, she’d have to tie him into the magic in case something bad happened.

“Come here. Let me get a closer look.”

Well. She was extremely adorable and she had worked on it for over a year. It wouldn’t hurt to show off. She strode over with light footsteps to highlight her elegance. Sirius didn’t bother trying to hide his amusement. 

“I cannot believe this,” he said, grinning like a maniac. He knelt on the ground to study her further. “I would have thought you were a scorpion or a snake or something! May I?”

She nodded her acquiescence. He reached out run a hand down her back, which was far more enjoyable than rubbing against the bottom of her bedframe. Next, he held out his finger. She wrapped her tiny black paws around it. She squealed as he scooped her up and held her close to his face.

“Look at that nose,” he said, twisting her this way and that. “You’re so fat and fluffy!”

Quick as a snake, Lucy struck out and bit him hard on the nose. He cursed and fell back on his ass. She scampered away to shift back. This was the most difficult part. Lucy still remembered her old body. She remembered being tall and slim and brunette. Sometimes she got bits of her old self mixed into the new one. The first time she’d done it, she’d had to go to Madam Pomfrey to get her legs to match. 

It took a moment, but she soon stood tall and regal above Sirius Black. 

“Don’t ever call me that again,” she snapped. 

“Oi!” He protested, rubbing his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that! It was cute is all. None of us turn into furry woodland creatures.”

“What do you turn into, then?”

Sirius smirked. Far quicker than she could, far quicker than he had any right to, he morphed into a massive black dog. It was tall and broad with pointy ears that added to his threatening demeanor. 

“Show your teeth,” Lucy said. 

He snarled. She shuddered involuntarily. Poor Ron being dragged around by such a beast. 

“You’re much more terrifying like this.”

He wagged his tail eagerly. Lucy snorted and conjured a piece of fabric to sit on. 

“Come on. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” she said, summoning her bag. 

Sirius transformed back and sat across from her on the grass.

“Didn’t take your for the girly type,” he said, eyeing her makeshift seat as if it had deeply insulted his personal honor.

She sniffed. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Like how you’re a cheeky little fuzzball at heart?”

“Yes, exactly,” she said drily. “Now, its time to focus. We’ve got a country to save.”

Lucy would have liked to brainstorm until the sun dipped below the trees. She wanted contingency plans for her contingency plans. Sirius would have none of it. He declared them prepared after they had two different ways to escape. Lucy consented with great trepidation. It certainly wasn’t her style, but that might be for the best. Flitwick had given her advice that she would have given someone else. It was time to open up. Her peers were no longer children. They were young adults that had grown up in a time of war. 

Little Hangleton was indeed nested against a thin forest. Unfortunately, the shack was half buried in a copse of malevolent trees. Darkness waded from it, choking their animal senses. They decided to set up camp a good hundred yards away, warding their campground until even Dumbledore would be hard pressed to notice them. They watched for three days. On the third night, they decided they were ready. It seemed that Voldemort was arrogant enough to think no one would investigate his past. Either that or he had moved the horcrux. Or set a deadly trap. She couldn’t decide which was worse. 

They cast dillusionment and silencing charms on each other, then crept across the rolling field. Lucy could think of no other way to describe the Gaunt shack other than sad. A sorrowful aura permeated the very ground they stood on. Beyond that, though, were the wards.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius cursed. He waved his wand in a complicated pattern. “This is almost as bad as Grimmauld Place.”

Lucy’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Almost?”

He sneered back. “Almost.”

It took them the better part of four hours. It might have taken Lucy twice as long on her own. She was good, but she didn’t recognize have the curses woven into the latticework. Finally, just as the moon began to dip from its apex, the wards hummed and dropped. 

“Fuck,” Sirius cursed vehemently. 

“Fuck,” Lucy agreed. 

She tightened her ponytail and stepped forward. There was a magical tripwire of sorts that she banished with half a thought. The door, however, nearly caused her to turn back. She’d never been afraid of snakes until her first year. She liked them still, found their magical abilities and genetic makeup fascinating. To not have any limbs and still be one of the most feared predators on a planet! She loved odd things like that, special things. It was what made her and Tom Riddle alike. 

Still, seeing a dozen dark hissing things unfurl from the vines ran a shiver up her spine. 

“Inrita maledictum,” Sirius said. He stood tall in front of her, waving his wand and chanting a melodic set of words. “Inrita maledictum. Eiecto anathema. Ego ex cruor purus, ego ex magica nigrae. Inrita maledictum.”

Black tendrils of shadow fell from the tip of his wand. It fell onto the writhing beasts like soft snow. They hissed almost contentedly before fading back into the nettles and thorns. 

“What was that?” Lucy whispered. 

“That was one of the only good things about being a pureblood. Black family magic. Dark magic.”

“It was beautiful.”

Sirius let out a shaky breath. “It’s tempting is what it is. Stay behind me. I might need to do it again.”

Lucy did not argue against it. She’d encountered books cursed against readers with ‘dirty blood’. Voldemort might be half muggle, but he was also half Slytherin. She didn’t have an ancient lineage to fall back on. Dragonhide gloves wouldn’t protect her against fatal curses. She couldn’t even fall back on the AK like she had so long ago. 

Sirius silenced the snake nailed to the door with a jet of white light, then waved his wand to open the door. They stepped through threshold and quickly moved to stand back to back. It was dark and filthy. The sheer amount of dust and dirt and magic itched at her nose. Something terrible was inside, something that called for them. A shiver ran down her spine and made her toes dig into her trainers. 

“What the fuck is that?” Sirius asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. 

“That’s what we’re here for.”

Lucy waved her wand in a wide arc. Soft pink witchlight erupted in a series of sparks, then danced together to hover in the middle of the room. It cast a bright glow onto their surroundings. Sirius, meanwhile, was already fighting his way through another magical tripwire and literally burning through runes seared into the floor. 

They worked in tandem, fighting their way past Voldemort’s defenses. A rune set out a jet of flame that scorched Lucy’s arm. She grit her teeth and tried to ignore the pain and the smell of burnt hair. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, they found themselves staring down at a loose plank in the floorboards. It was still calling as it had been the entire time. It scratched at the base of their skulls and violated their senses until it was nearly irresistible. She wanted it, desired to cherish and care for it until the end of her days. She didn’t know why, but the irresistible urge was there. She would be complete if only she could possess it. 

“What is it?” Sirius hissed. 

Lucy shook the compulsions off slowly. It felt as if she were surfacing from a murky pond. She reached into her bag, shuffling around until she found a small iron box. Runes were carved into the border in a precise pattern. 

“Here, hold this open for me,” she ordered. 

Sirius squatted to hold the it close to her side as she knelt on the dirty floor. She hesitated, chewing on her lip as she thought something through. Sirius waited with surprising patience as she came to a decision. 

“Right,” she murmured, nodding her head. “Better to do this all in one go.”

She stuck the tip of her wand in her bag and muttered a spell. A pair of dragonhide gloves and a large ring shot out into her waiting palm. She put her wand and the ring on the ground long enough to pull on the gloves, then took a deep, steadying breath before she cast a spell. The floorboard creaked as it pulled itself up. Another spell and a ring floated out from the depths.

“Holy fuck. I can almost taste it,” Sirius said. He sounded strangely wistful. 

Lucy nearly shoved the horcrux into the box. He snapped it shut just as hastily. Immediately, the slimy tendrils of dark magic ceased pawing at their exposed skin. They both let out sighs of relief. 

“Put that in and let’s get out of here,” he said, sounding much more like himself. 

It took them almost an hour to escape back out onto the rolling plains. They didn’t remember or even know all of Voldemort’s curses, but they warded the shack with everything they knew. Lucy reasoned that he might send someone to ensure the Shack was untouched. It wasn’t, of course, but it might fool anyone who didn’t investigate thoroughly. It might earn them a day or two sometime in the future. 

“Can you apparate to the Leaky?” Sirius asked. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. She was exhausted and London was nearly three hundred miles away. 

“Come on,” he said, gripping her hand.

He took a deep breath and the night disintegrated around them. 

Lucy hardly remembered paying for a room or trudging up the stairs. Sirius, thank god, was the one who warded their room to the high heavens. She collapsed on one bed to watch as he cast spell after spell. She passed out after the third one. 

They woke long after the sun rose. It was nearly noon by the time they were both showered and dressed and full of caffeine. She was surprised to find that he had applied salve and bandages to the burn on her arm.

“So are you going to tell me what that was?” Sirius asked, leaning back against the small table in their room. 

“No.”

He scoffed. “Are you going to tell me where you’re going to hide it?”

“No.”

“Lucy!”

“I have motions set in place in the event of my death or arrest,” she said, sipping on her coffee. She was infinitely grateful that she wasn’t lactose intolerant this time around. In fact, she wasn’t sure if witches and wizards suffered from it at all. “Copies of my will will be sent out to several people from several places. All of them have instructions on where to find a copy of my journal, all of which are hidden in different places. Those people will convene and decide what to do with the information I’ve given them.”

He frowned. “But what if something else happens? What if you’re captured?”

“You ever seen a spy film?”

“No,” he said, almost amused.

Lucy settled onto his bed to explain. “Spies in movies have something called a cyanide pill. It’s implanted into their mouths somehow and when they’re captured, they bite down and die almost instantly.”

“Merlin, you can’t mean-“

She cut him off by pulling a necklace out from under her shirt (an authentic Led Zep concert tee from the show Ted had surprised her with earlier in June- seriously the best brother ever). A strange waxy stone hung on a silver chain. 

“I’ve got seventy two seconds to swallow this antidote after I speak the password that activates the fake molar in the back of my mouth.”

“Fucking hell, Luce!” Sirius said, rising to his feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Of course I’m not! He can’t know what I know or the whole fucking world is doomed.”

He raked a hand through his long hair. “There’s got to be another way, something else-“

“You’re smarter than that, Sirius,” she admonished. 

He scoffed and crossed his arms. “Who else knows. Who else knows what you’re doing.”

“No one.”

“No one?”

“Flitwick knows the most. I had to tell him something. He was afraid I’m trying to rob Gringotts.” Sirius huffed in amusement. “Ted and Andy have an idea, but they know better than to ask questions. It’s safer for Nymph that way.”

“So it’s just me?”

She shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Why me?”

She shrugged again. “I thought you would be more fun than Severus.”

Sirius choked. She smiled placatingly. 

“Come along, minion,” she said. “We’re off to the banks.”

At a small bank in Muggle London, she gave him access to a safety deposit box. She rolled her eyes at the ID he carried around. He had a cheeky smile in the picture and boasted the name ‘James Padfoot’. After flirting outrageously with the teller, he followed Lucy into the private room. A large metal box waited for them on the table. 

“What is all this?” He asked, looking around the room curiously. 

“Muggle banks offer these things called safety deposit boxes. Only you and the people listed are allowed to request the box be brought up from the vaults. It’s usually used for expensive jewelry or important papers.”

Sirius broke out into a devilish grin. “And you’re using to hide the Dark Lord’s artifacts.”

“I figured no one would think to look here. And I don’t plan to keep them here forever, just until I have the means to destroy them.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Telling you that would tell you what they are.”

“They? How many do you have?”

She opened the box to reveal another box, this one much larger than the ring’s. 

“Just two. But there are five altogether. For now, anyway. He’ll make more as time goes on.”

“So it’s something he makes that has to be destroyed in a specific way?”

“Yep. You’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

At Gringotts, the goblins led her to one of the newer, smaller vaults. There wasn’t a lot of money. Most of her funds came from things she’d scrounged up and the little she’d inherited from her mum. She could’ve got more, but she figured Ted needed it worse. He had a family of his own on top of keeping Lucy fed and sheltered. 

She took out fifteen hundred galleons, a sizeable chunk of the small mounds of gold and silver and bronze. Sirius shifted uncomfortably. 

“My Uncle Alphie left me-“

“No,” Lucy said sharply. “We can’t be connected more than we already are.”

He sighed. “When are you going to-“

“Thank you, Griphook. We’re ready,” she said firmly. 

Sirius rolled his eyes, but took the hint. “What do you need that much gold for, anyway?”

“You’ll see.”

An hour later, Lucy stood on an upscale wizarding street with Sirius Black and a house elf at her side. Coco was named for her big chocolate colored eyes. Her ears were longer than any of the others in the shop (“a sure sign of fertility”) and walked on near silent feet (“you won’t even know she’s there!”). Most importantly, she was the first elf to step forward when Lucy had said she needed a brave elf that wouldn’t mind going on adventures. She’d even chosen the same tea towels that Lucy would have chosen herself. There’s was a match made in heaven. 

“Thank you for all your help, Sirius,” Lucy said. “I would say I couldn’t have done it without you, but I could.”

“Wow. Thanks, Lucy.”

“Anytime. Thank the Potters for letting me borrow a broom.”

“What? You think I’m going back to Prongs’?”

Lucy frowned. “You’re staying with Andy?”

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to see her face when you come home with a house elf.”


	5. Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I finished my master's degree so I finally have time to write now! I'm trying to finish my more popular fics and this is one that seems to have gathered a few followers than the rest. 
> 
> Thus far, the pace has been fast because I wanted Lucy and the other characters to be older for the rest of the story. It should slow down a bit especially after she graduates. Also, sorry if the change in tense is jarring. I’ve changed writing tenses since I first started this fic and it’s too annoying to go through and change it all.

Lucy has never really felt any positive emotion upon entering Hogwarts. The first time there was the required awe and excitement, but she got over that as soon as the Hat sentenced her to death. Tonight however, on the eve of her final year, she feels an almost overwhelming rush of relief as she steps into the entryway. It’s almost immediately replaced by guilt. 

As much as Lucy loves her family, as eternally grateful as she is for their patience and goodwill, Nymphadora has officially reached her toddler years. Toddlers are already bad enough. Throw in some magic and shapeshifting and they’re a bloody nightmare. Lucy often wonders if this second life of hers is actually a part of some hell. She’s always hated children, always vehemently swore against ever having them. Now fate has decreed that in addition to suffering through six school years with the pests, her summer home has an infestation of the worst kind as well. 

Sirius Black is often just as difficult as Nymph. The horcrux hunt has reached a dead end. Apparently, the City of London has better things to keep record of than orphanages that have long since been transformed into salons and shops. It doesn’t help that Lucy can only remember two things about it: It was possibly in the east end and definitely involved a Ms. Cole. Maybe. Despite all of his cleverness, Sirius is of no help at all. He quickly grew bored with all of the research and demanded to practice dueling or go visit the pool. She’d made the mistake of losing her temper with him on one particularly hot day. Nym was wailing at the top of her lungs, Andi was refusing Coco’s help, Lucy was PMSing, and Sirius was restless. She exploded in a torrent of curses and insults, ending her tirade with ‘ _You’re no better than a thirteen year old boy and yet you always ask why I like Sev better!_ ’ 

She knew the words were a mistake as soon as they left her mouth. In all of her ignorance, she thought he would scream for a bit, go sulk at the Potters, then return so they could make up. It was wishful thinking. Sirius immediately disappeared and came back three days later with a dangerous glint in his eye. Apparently, the only part he heard of her tirade was ‘thirteen year old boy’. He spent the next two months walking around shirtless and driving her absolutely mad with his flirtatious antics. Ted and Andi seemed to think it was hilarious. They happened to grow suddenly concerned for their daughter’s wellbeing when Lucy brought it up. 

“It’s sad, isn’t it?”

Lucy jolts to attention. A pretty girl with long blonde curls sighs as she wraps her arm around Lucy’s. 

“I know you haven’t had the typical Hogwarts experience,” Violet Brown says as she leads them into the Great Hall, “but it’s still sad. It’s our last year of freedom. I’ve only got a war or marriage contracts to look forward to after this.”

They spend the Welcoming Feast gossiping about nonsense: Zafeera Shariq’s enchanted hijab, Alice soon-to-be Longbottom’s new pixie cut, Dumbledore’s latest eye-gouging robes. It’s a nice change of pace from soul splitting and battle tactics. It takes a while for Lucy to realize it’s an escape for Violet too. Pure of blood as she is, her brother is an auror. She’s probably spent her time in the common room dodging Death Eaters with hints of dowries and promises of fertility. 

The thought keeps Lucy up throughout the night. She spends the night sitting on her bed with the Bloody Baron for company, flipping through an old book she bought in Knockturn. 

* * *

Lucy only attended classes her first three years of Hogwarts. Even then the professors assigned different lessons to work on in the corner. Dumbledore finally took pity on her in fourth year and agreed to self study so long as she met with the professors two or three times a week. There are three exceptions to the rule: astronomy, potions and defense. 

Astronomy is learned better in a practical setting and she had it with the Ravenclaws besides. They always made lessons interesting. As for potions, no one meets with Slughorn during office hours unless it’s absolutely necessary. Defense, on the other hand, is a necessity. The experience of the instructor is just as important as the technique and theory of the magic. There hasn’t been a professor to offer a specialized lesson plan each year either. 

This year, Dumbledore has had to resort to dividing the Defense position between three aurors. Rumor has it Auror Diaz was offered the position first and refused to teach anyone other than NEWT students. Lucy has a feeling they’ll get along famously. They can bond over their hatred of children if nothing else. 

Her classmates don’t seem to be half as confident. The Slytherins have commandeered the left side of the classroom, desperate to soak in as much sunlight as possible before curfew. There are twelve of them in total, glancing from the door to the fourteen Gryffindors nervously. Lucy pointedly ignores a set of grey eyes burning into her back and drops into a seat beside Severus. 

“You mind?” She asks, already passing over a box of candies in payment. All the Slytherins fight to sit beside Severus Snape. It’s usually Lucy that is chosen for the honor since she’s the only one that doesn’t want to copy his answers. 

He pops a caramel sweet in his mouth. “Black looks like he does.”

“I’ve had enough of Black, thank you.”

“Ah, that’s right,” he drawls. “How was your summer, Lucille?”

“Simply marvelous, Severus. How was yours? ”

Before he can answer, the door slams shut. A short man with broad shoulders and deep brown skin strides quickly through the Gryffindor aisle. He’s either a halfblood or a pureblood judging by his wizarding apparel, though not overly concerned with his appearance. His trousers are ruffled and his grey robe is on the verge of slipping off one shoulder. 

“Good morning.”

Lucy startles. It’s been so long since she’s heard that accent. Something warm and sad rises in her chest. She’d assumed their professor would be Spanish. She hadn’t dreamed....

“My name is Julio Diaz. I worked in the US Auror division for fifteen years before I met my wife. She wanted to move back to Ireland, so here I am two decades later. Teaching you.” His dark eyes trail over the classroom slowly. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. There’s a war on. I won’t be preaching about which side to join or lecturing you on right or wrong. You’re adults. That’s your decision to make.”

He ruffles his wiry grey hair as he scowls. 

“I’m a teacher. You’re a student. It’s my job to keep you safe and teach you how to keep yourself safe. Sometimes that means fighting. Sometimes that means running. Sometimes it means passing your NEWTs.”

A few Gryffindors chuckle weakly. He flicks his wand and scrolls of parchment soar to land on each of their desks. The more athletic students catch theirs out of the air. Out of habit from potions, Severus unrolls his syllabus and charms it to hover in the middle of the table. He and Lucy read it hungrily. It’s so rare to have a competent Defense Professor. 

“As you can see, most of this class will be practical with an emphasis on dueling. I’ve never understood why Hogwarts doesn’t have a mandatory dueling course. And you lot, simmer down.” James and Sirius turn back to the front with innocent smiles. “The first time I catch you doing anything other than learning, I will punish you in a way you’ve never even dreamed of. The first thing you learn to do as an Auror is bend the rules.”

Severus snorts in amusement. It immediately fades as Lily Evans raises her hand.

“Yes, Miss...”

“Evans. Lily Evans. I was just wondering....the syllabus says we’re to receive a demonstration on the unforgivables this week.” 

The temperature in the room plummets. Almost as one, every student in the room swivels in their seat to stare at Lucy. Auror Diaz follows their gaze with a raised brow. 

“It seems you’ve already had a demonstration.”

Lucy smiles an Andromeda Tonks smile, the same smile Narcissa and Bellatrix Black learned at the knees of their mother. Several of the Slytherins shudder. 

“Just the once, Professor. I checked and it was all very legal.”

“That was the only legal thing you cast that night,” someone mutters. Someone else kicks at their chair. It’s one thing to get the mudblood in trouble; it’s another to rat her out for using the Dark Arts. It goes against an unspoken code passed down from Slytherin to Slytherin and Ravenclaw to Ravenclaw for centuries. 

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? What’s your name?”

“Lucille Tonks. Mudblood of Slytherin.”

Sirius is the only one to bark out a laugh. The Slytherins have long since grown used to her ‘ _low brow humor, must you drag our name through the mud further?_ ’ The Gryffindors, however, look like the common room had that terrible October night. All wide eyes and gaping mouths.

“Why don’t you tell us the story, Miss Tonks? What could have prompted a student to use an Unforgivable in Hogwarts?”

Severus huffs in contempt. He and Sirius and James haven’t resorted to Unforgivables just yet, but they’ve thrown worse things at one another. His disdain doesn’t go unnoticed by the professor. Auror Diaz’s gaze darts from Severus to Lucy and back again.

“Tell me, Miss Tonks. What happened in your first year?“

“A snake attacked. I killed it.”

“Killed it how?”

“With magic.”

“What kind of magic?”

“The green sort.”

Severus manages to snort and scoff at the same time. 

“Why the Killing Curse?”

“Everything else bounced off.”

His bushy brows raise. “What sort of snake was it?” 

“Magical Burmese. Hagrid helped me look it up.”

One of the Gryffindors curses vehemently. 

“You said everything else bounced off. What else did you try?”

“Oh, you know. A little bit of this. A little bit of that.”

“No, I don’t know, Miss Tonks.”

“No, I suppose you don’t. I do suppose you know who my sister-in-law is, though.”

The tension in the room tightens enough to snap. Several people glance over at Sirius. Lucy suddenly wishes Regulus was in their year. His reaction would be interesting. She’ll probably hear of it, anyway. This calls for a summons. She’s never mentioned Andromeda in public before. 

Sirius flips his wand in the air, catches it, and winks roguishly. “They don’t call it black magic for nothing.”

The professor relaxes against his desk, crossing his arms thoughtfully. 

“Yes, why don’t we talk about that. Black magic. Dark magic. Tell us, Lucy, what did it feel like to cast the Killing Curse?“

Lucy weighs her options, before deciding the truth might make them fear her more than mystery. The enigma of it all can only work for so long. 

“A rush. Of relief at first. Then power. There was pain, you see, but only a little. It felt like pulling a muscle. I figured he wasn’t much more intelligent than a snake. It could hurt too bad, could it?”

“What couldn’t hurt?” A ginger Gryffindor named Robinson asks. Though hardly more than a whisper, his voice booms like a thundercloud in the silence. “Why would it hurt?” 

“Murder splits the soul,” Sirius rasps. His face is drawn and darkening to a dangerous shade of grey. “Battle is one thing. Revenge is another, given the magic and the circumstances, but murder...”

He jerks to his feet, his chair clambering to the ground in a deafening crash. 

“Excuse me, Professor. Beans gave me the shits.”

James Potter screws his face up incredulously as Sirius rushes out of the room. The class blinks after him stupidly. 

“Fucking Blacks,” Yaxley mutters. “Mad, the whole lot of them.”

“But they’re all so pretty,” a Gryffindor boy sighs wistfully. 

Auror Diaz sighs too, his full of annoyance. 

“Very well, that’s enough for one day. I’ll see you this time on Wednesday, where we’ll discuss the Unforgivables in detail. Class dismissed.”

Everyone is slow to leave. Several of the students immediately surround the professor, bombarding him with questions. Lucy takes advantage of the chaos to slip out the door and hurry down to the dungeons. She isn’t the least bit surprised to find Sirius pacing outside her room like a madman. He lunges forward and shakes her shoulders. 

“Horcruxes?” He hisses. “Voldemort’s hor-“

“Not here, you idiot!”

She shoves him off and places her palm against the door, whispering an incantation. The door glows, runes alight on the frame, and it pops open gently. She drags Sirius inside, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one is watching.

He pulls up short as they enter. She frowns, trying to imagine her little flat as he’s seeing it. The house elves helped her expand it a bit and she suspects the Headmaster is responsible for the bathroom hiding behind the thick emerald curtains. A double bed is shoved in the corner. Books line the transfigured shelves covering every inch of spare wall. She’s kept the Slytherin theme for the most part, but thrown in some complementary colors and posters throughout the years. 

He runs a hand over the silver sheets of her bed. 

“You’ve been this isolated since first year?” 

Lucy rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m not as extroverted as you are, Sirius. I get exhausted being around so many people all the time.” 

“I know but...aren’t you going to close that?” He asks, glancing at the door. 

“No one can hear us.”

His broad frame tenses. “Well yeah, but this is...” he waves his hands wildly. “This is different! You could have told me! Horcruxes, Lucy? Voldemort’s bits of soul hiding around the countryside?!”

“You don’t have to help me anymore,” she says softly. “I know it’s dangerous-“

“That’s what you think this is about?!” He claws a hand through his hair and begins pacing again. Lucy sighs, makes her bed with a flick of her wand, and makes herself comfortable. “How did you even find out?! How he had them, where they are? Do you even know what you’re dealing with? You’ve got them in a muggle bank, for Merlin’s sake!”

“If I’ve got someone tailing me, they’re not going to think twice about a mudblood going to a muggle bank and I can’t very well leave them at home, can I?”

“No, but-“

“But nothing. As soon as I can destroy them-“

“You can’t destroy them! That’s the whole point of a horcrux, Lucy!”

Lucy scowls. “Don’t raise your voice at me. And yes, there are ways to destroy them. Fiendfyre and basilisk venom are proven, but I think-”

Sirius’s brows raise into his hairline. “And when, pray tell, have you had the opportunity master-“

“Careful, Sirius. Your pureblood is showing.” She waves off his anger with a dismissive hand. “And anyway, the Baron and I thought up a plan for the-“

The walls suddenly glow and vibrate as magic brushes against the wards. Sirius and Lucy spin, wands raised, to find Albus Dumbledore smiling at them in spangled blue robes. Curiously enough, Regulus Black stands proudly at his side. 

“Bloody fucking hell,” Sirius mutters. 

Lucy gives him a scathing look. “Sit down, be quiet, and whatever you do, don’t look either of them in the eye.”

He grumbles and obeys, crossing his arms petulantly. The amethyst duvet crinkles as he climbs on the bed. Lucy slashes her wand at the doorframe until the doorframe lights up a blinding pink. 

“Come in.”

“Thank you, Lucille,” Dumbledore says. He looks around curiously, a twinkle in his eyes she’s never seen on him before. He’s always Dumbledore the War General in her presence. She’s never had the opportunity to meet Professor Dumbledore. “Extraordinary wards. Extraordinary.”

Regulus enters on his heels, his sharp gaze immediately going to the innumerable books. 

“Thank you, Professor,” she says. 

“Of course, of course. I’m glad to see your stomach has settled so quickly, Mr. Black. Beans on toast can be hard on the digestive system.”

Sirius, to his credit, doesn’t hesitate. 

“Just needed a quick potion.”

Regulus snorts. He glances over his shoulder at Lucy. If Lucy were going to fancy either brother, it would be the younger one. He’s just as tall as Sirius, it not more slender. His eyes are deeper set, his lips less shapely, and his face a bit longer, but he still looks like Sirius. In fact, he almost could be Andromeda’s brother rather than Sirius’s. Lucy is wise enough to keep that thought to herself. 

“May I?” He inquires, gesturing to her library. 

She nods. “Just be careful with the top shelf.”

“I’m far more interested in this.” He pulls down a yellow book from the second shelf. “‘ _72 Charms for Curing Cheeses_.’”

“Compiled by a Mongolian wizard, believe it or not,” She adds. It’s one of her favorite finds from the Room of Requirement.

“Fascinating,” Dumbledore murmurs. He begins perusing the shelves as well, his long nose mere inches from the spines. 

Lucy cringes. “Careful, Professor. There’s a nasty tome in that corner that doesn’t react well to halfbloods.”

He immediately backs away. “Oh, of course. Thank you.”

“Doesn’t seem to mind muggleborns or purebloods or even Professor Flitwick. Only halfblood wizards and witches.”

“A truly singular discrimination.” He shakes his head as though clearing his thoughts. “Regretfully, I didn’t come here to discuss literature. My visit pertains to your Defense class.”

Lucy nods. “I figured. There isn’t much room, but I think we can manage a few conjur-“

“What’s he doing here?” Sirius demands. 

Regulus returns the book and smiles gently at his brother. “Perhaps I just wanted to check up on our dear cousin.”

“She’s not our cousin.”

“Don’t worry, Siri. That’s never stopped any of our family before.”

Lucy has the sudden urge to disappear through the floor, much like the Baron has a habit of doing. It intensifies when Dumbledore busies himself with conjuring small armchairs in an poor attempt to hide his amusement.

Regulus smirks as Sirius clenches his jaw.

“It’s like that muggle saying. How does it go? You can take the wizard from of the purebloods, but you can’t take the-“

“Regulus,” Sirius snarls warningly. 

“Oh, come off it,” Lucy scoffs. “You know he’s right. You even said ‘pray tell’ a moment ago.”

Regulus’s eyes shine with a familiar mad glint. Before he can say anything, Dumbledore claps his hands. 

“Here we are, seats for everyone,” he announces jovially. 

Lucy picks the closest, a rather pretty pale blue one. Dumbledore and Regulus choose the others, one yellow and the other white. The two of them are so tall and the room so narrow, their knees almost knock together. For once in her life, Lucy is content with being as short as a second year. 

Dumbledore beams at his students, causing Lucy to shift uncomfortably. She’s not accustomed to him being so friendly. 

“Very good, very good! Who would like to begin? Regulus, perhaps?”

Regulus nods deeply. “Of course, Headmaster. I also came to discuss the Defense class. Lucy has always been an outsider in Slytherin. Despite that, she’s always remained respectful of the Black name. Today is the first time she’s ever mentioned my aunt in public.”

He catches Lucy’s gaze and holds it. 

“I wanted to thank you for your discretion. You have had every right to be anything other than mature. I know it’s more for Andromeda and perhaps even Nymphadora than myself, but I am still grateful.”

Sirius’s eyes bug out at the mention of Nymph. 

“You’re welcome.”

“You know Nymph’s name?”

Regulus huffs impatiently. “Who do you think handles the Black affairs now that Father’s passed? It certainly isn’t our sweet Mother and I wasn’t about to let Lestrange sully our name.”

“But-“

“I must be discrete in these things, Sirius, a word that you are apparently unfamiliar with. How Lucille tolerated your presence over an entire summer, I’ll never know.”

“I’m not an idiot, Reggie.”

“No, you’re just a Gryffindor,” Lucy snaps. She cringes, glancing over at Dumbledore. “No offense, Professor.”

“None taken,” he chuckles. 

“If Sirius is done, I’d like to finish,” Regulus says. 

At his brother’s stiff shrug, he continues on as if he were never interrupted. Lucy is once again reminded of why she holds purebloods in such envious contempt. They’re all so fucking graceful. His type might kill you slow, but they’d do it with poise. 

“I also wanted to commend you on how you handled the situation. Not that I expect anything less, mind you, I merely wanted to clarify that there are no ill feelings harbored.”

“Thank you.”

Regulus sucks in a breath before turning to his brother. “I’d also like to give you a gold star, Sirius. You handled the situation well, at least until you used your breakfast beans as an excuse to escape a stressful situation. Honestly, brother. You’ve been using that since you were five.”

“If it works, it works,” he shrugs. 

Dumbledore clears his throat rather violently. None of them are fooled. Regulus reverts his attention to Lucy.

“I’d also like to issue a formal invitation for you to return to the Slytherin common room.”

Lucy straightens her spine. Now, this is unexpected. The current King of Serpents accepting a known muggleborn and Voldemort antagonist into Slytherin. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Does this invitation come from you or the Dark Lord?”

Dumbledore sits upright, but doesn’t interrupt.

“From me,” Regulus answers calmly. “If Lucius had half a brain, he would have cultivated you all those years ago. Only a fool would ostracize a Slytherin with a mind like yours.” 

“He did more than ostracize me.” 

“That he did.” Regulus smiles his first genuine smile of the afternoon. It gives him a distinctly wolflike appearance. “And look at what you did. Would you have done it? Would you have killed him if the Baron had not intervened?”

Dumbledore peers over his spectacles sharply. 

“Our darling Aunt Cissy would be better off for it.”

“Hmm. Maybe. Lucius is malleable. Others may not be so...soft.”

“I’m afraid I must intervene,” Dumbledore interrupts, making a point of meeting Lucy’s eyes. “Would you have killed Lucius Malfoy?”

Lucy holds his gaze steadily and says, “No.”

He deflates visibly. 

“Don’t be mistaken, Professor. It was only because even as a child I realized Lucious Lucius wasn’t someone worth shredding my soul over.”

Sirius laughs almost desperately. Dumbledore doesn’t appear nearly as amused. 

“You think yourself capable of murder?”

Lucy lets her gaze wander over her room as she gather her thoughts. 

“It’s like Sirius said earlier. There’s a distinction between murder and defense or revenge.”

“But when does revenge go too far? Who are we mortals to dole out death?”

Lucy laughs. She’s can’t hold it in. It’s an ironic question coming from a man who raised a boy for slaughter. 

“I have my anchors, Professor, just as you have Fawkes, correct?”

Dumbledore nods slowly, confirming a controversial opinion on the nature of domesticated phoenixes. Most scholars believe only the purest wizards and witches are capable of bonding with phoenixes. Lucy has always disagreed, from the very moment she read the words on the page. It always seemed pointless to her. Others argue that phoenixes bond with conflicted wizards, wizards that require a light in the darkness, so to speak. Someone reborn from their own ashes. Maybe it’s romantic, but Lucy always liked the idea. 

A sudden crack rings out in the room and a house elf appears. He drops a crate of clucking roosters at Lucy’s feet. 

“Here’s you go, Miss Lucy. Is you be needin’ anything else for you’s project?”

“Bloody fucking hell!” Sirius roars, jumping off the bed. “You’ve got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME!”

Lucy groans. He’s as bad as a house elf. No subtlety at all. 

“No thank you, Zoopey,” she says tiredly. 

The house elf nods, disappearing with a cautious glance at Sirius. 

“First h-“ he begins, but Lucy jabs her wand at him, vanishing his mouth entirely. His eyes widen comically as he claws at his face. 

“Miss Tonks, I demand that you set Sirius back at once.”

“Don’t worry, Professor,” Regulus says absentmindedly, his attention caught on the annoyed roosters. “Mother used to hit him with it twice a day. He’ll remember the counter curse after he calms down.”

He rises and squats in front of the crate, curiously poking his wand through the hole. One squawks in protest. 

“I’ll keep my mouth closed for ten percent and three vials of venom,” he says nonchalantly. 

Dumbledore rushes to his feet, much like Sirius had moments before. 

“Miss Tonks, please tell me Mr. Black is mistaken. You surely cannot mean to hunt down a basilisk.”

Lucy takes a deep breath as she stands, straightening her robes and pinafore as she gathers herself. She really, really didn’t mean for anyone to get involved, let alone Albus Dumbledore. It wasn’t even a scenario she thought up in her planning the night before. All because of Sirius fucking Black and his Gryffindor tendencies. 

“First, Professor, I would like to your remind you of the Bulstrode-McNair Act of 1809, stating that-“

“That the proceeds from the killing of a magical creature classified above XXX go directly to the hunter and her assistants, no matter which lands, government owned or not, the creature was killed on.” Dumbledore presses his lips together firmly. “I cannot allow this, Lucille. You will lead me to the Chamber and I will contact the proper authorities.”

“Can’t do that, Professor.”

“Yes, you bloody well can!” Sirius interrupts. “You accuse me of being a reckless idiot twice a week, but I’ve never done anything half as stupid as going after a goddamn basilisk!”

Lucy raises her chin, ignoring him entirely. 

“Professor, I really must insist. I am of age and the law clearly states-“

“You are a student, Miss Tonks, and I will not allow endanger my students so carelessly.”

“If that were true you wouldn’t have left an eleven year old at the mercy of Voldemort’s followers.”

Dumbledore inhales sharply. He lets it out in a rush, his shoulders slumping miserably. 

“That was foolish and cowardly of me, Miss Tonks. It’s part of why I came here this afternoon. The Hat-“

“You know, no one has ever asked me what it is that I’m so hungry for. You all assume it’s for power or something terrible. For all you know, my life’s ambition could be to start a farm in the middle of the French countryside.”

Sirius barks out a laugh. “I’d pay to see that. You won’t sit on the grass without conjuring a blanket.”

“Fuck off, Sirius. This isn’t the time.”

“No dear girl, I believe it is. You are a burgeoning dark witch who seems to possess more knowledge about Lord Voldemort than perhaps even myself. You’ve spent your years at my school studying the same old magics that Tom was partial to. Quite frankly, the only reason I haven’t intervened thus far is because you do not hold enough brute power to become a Lady in your own right. I can no longer allow this to continue, not after this latest revelation.”

Lucy chews on her lip. There’s a contingency plan for this. She thought it up years ago, she just hoped she never had to use it. She turns on her heel, arms crossed as she thinks it through. The Bloody Baron is there, watching her grimly. 

“What do you think, Baron?”

He only stares at her like he always does, a spectral projection of her own conscience. She’s never asked why he has kept her company throughout the years. Truthfully, she’s always been a little afraid of the answer. She’s always been afraid of everything this time around. 

Lucy turns on her heel quick enough for the others to startle. She throws her shoulders back and holds her spine straight, just as Andromeda taught her. She may not ever be a Dark Lady, but she can sure as hell act like one. 

She catches Regulus’s attention first. 

“You either leave or you swear an unbreakable vow.”

He grins that predatory, wolffish smile of his.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He rolls up his sleeves and kneels on the floor, just as Dumbledore vanishes the chairs. Lucy mirrors him as gracefully as she can manage. His hand is warm and smooth when she grasps it. 

Dumbledore steps forward, wand raised, but Regulus shakes his head. 

“I’d rather my brother cast it, if you don’t mind.”

The headmaster lowers his chin in acquiescence. Sirius replaces him, an almost suspicious expression on his face. He places the tip of his ebony wand on their linked hands. There, kneeling beside a crate of roosters, the scion of House Black swears to withhold knowledge from the most powerful Dark Lord of the century. Dumbledore looks like he might cry when Regulus helps her to her feet. 

“Alright then,” she says, taking a deep breath. She looks up at three men nervously. “I’m a Seer. And I know how to kill Voldemort.”

A frightening mad gleam alights in Regulus’s eyes. Yaxley was right. They really are all crazy as loons. She'd thought it was just Sirius.

“Well then,” he says, “let’s go kill a basilisk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't decided on a ship yet, and I've never let anyone pick my plot for me, so I thought it could be fun if you choose. 
> 
> Should it be:  
> A) Sirius  
> B) Regulus  
> C) Severus  
> D) Lupin  
> E) Nobody; make it a gen fic. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Also, how cold was Dumbledore? "Yeah you're a disturbing little shit but I could destroy you with half a wave of my wand so I've let you carry on with your bullshit all this time." PS if you think he's being weird here, he's kind of stepping back and seeing what all he can learn from letting it play out in front of him.


	6. Horrid Beasts and How to Kill Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have got me super inspired. I’ve written three chapters since I posted the last one. This was my least favorite. I was so ready to get it out of the way.

As wary as Lucy is of Dumbledore, she can’t keep from feeling awed and almost giddy as she works alongside him. After their tiresome meeting, he put the school on lockdown and called for Professor Flitwick as backup. Lucy took the opportunity to change out of her pinafore and tights and into something more appropriate for climbing through ancient plumbing, a prospect that nearly had her crying at the thought alone. Between Lucy, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and the Black brothers, they manage to break into the Chamber of Secrets in just under three hours.

“Oh, parselmagic is everywhere. Any snake you see, whether it’s a window latch or in the background of a portrait. It’s fascinating,” Lucy tells Regulus as the sink lowers into the bathroom floor.

Regulus hums thoughtfully. He’s stripped down to his shirtsleeves for the expedition. Sirius had merely thrown his school robes onto the floor and demanded a hair tie.

“Slytherin must have been very well informed,” Regulus says.

“I’ve always said he was a competent mix of Hagrid and Lucius. It was meant as a compliment, but Lucius never took it as such.”

“He’s always had a broom up his-“

“Sirius,” Dumbledore protests, but it’s half-hearted. He’s too busy peering down into the massive sewer pipe to care much.

Lucy shudders. Five Hagrids could fit down that horrid thing.

“Do you think it’s a tight fit? Or it has to room to wiggle around?”

Flitwick presses his lips together. “I suppose we’ll find out. Albus, will you be going first?”

“If you could bring up the rear, I’ll take point, Filius.”

“Can’t you do something about it?” Lucy asks nervously.

Dumbledore pauses, his right foot already resting on the ledge. She likes his boots. They’re charcoal grey with a slight silver pattern swirling in the dim light. “Pardon?”

“It’s just so...gross looking.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?!” Sirius demands.

“It looks like snake goop!”

“Like that’s anything new for you. I bet you lot bathe in it down in your dungeons.”

“Like you aren’t wallowing around in fur up in your cat tower.”

Dumbledore suddenly vaults into the gaping pipe, his chortles echoing up long after his bright yellow wizard’s hat disappears from view. They wait in tense silence until a silvery phoenix flies up above them, silently chirping before vanishing through the ceiling.

“Show off,” Lucy mutters.

“Is your patronus corporeal?” Regulus asks curiously, raising his voice over Sirius’s echoing whoops and laughter.

“Hardly ever and it takes a lot out of me. Is yours?”

“It depends on the day.”

Lucy nods in understanding. She’s much the same. Dark magic has consequences. Voldemort may be an extreme example, but he isn’t an exaggeration. It takes something out of a person, changes something deep in one’s soul. It’s addicting. Empowering. Thankfully, Lucy has Ted to bring her back down from the high, to remind her of why she shouldn’t give herself over. The first time she nearly lost herself, she couldn’t stop thinking about Severus Snape. He didn’t have anyone. He had no one and yet he still managed to pull himself out of the darkness.

“Lucy?” a soft voice asks.

She startles, glancing up to see that only her and Flitwick remain. It’s odd having him here instead of towering Professor Snape. Disheartening. Even as a teen, he’s more competent than half of the professors.

“Sorry, Professor.”

It’s too short of a walk to the sewer. She blanches at the unidentifiable liquids reflecting in her wandlight. Is there any point in killing a basilisk if she’ll die soon after from a bacterial infection? 

“Best to not think about it, Lucy.”

Lucy sucks in a breath, nods, and hurls herself down into the shadows before she can hesitate any longer. It’s the single worst experience of her life as Lucille Tonks. She’d rather face the magical python again. At this she could kill that. She can’t do anything about the dizzying speed, the nauseating smell, or the wetness soaking through her jeans.

After eons of falling, she finally lands in a cradle of magic. She accepts Dumbledore’s offered hand, then hurries to cast cleansing charms over her body as soon as he lifts her to her feet.

“Er, Professor?” She asks quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Would you mind getting my back? I’d ask Sirius, but...”

“Ah! Of course, of course. Turn around, my dear.”

Lucy tries not to think about her past life. She never saw the point in it. When it does happen, its hardly ever wistful. It’s more perplexing. Before, she’d been brunette and slender. Pretty, but not stunning like she is now. This time around, she’s a Tonks. It wasn’t just Ted’s kind heart that caught Andromeda’s eye. Beauty, Lucy has learned, is more of curse than anything else. It isn’t just the students that watch when she walks past, that peer down her shirt when they get a chance. It’s grown men, too. Wizards and muggles alike never seemed to care that she was only fourteen or fifteen or sixteen. She was there and that was enough. She’s learned to be careful in how she acts and what she wears. Asking an seventeen year old Sirius Black to charm her ass clean is a sure way of getting ogled.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Certainly. Ah, Filius, what a marvelous display.”

Lucy spins around, but she only manages to catch Sirius’s rowdy applause and Regulus’s polite praise. Professor Flitwick takes the time to bow before he swishes his wand in broad circle. Bright light fills the dreary chamber, illuminating the innumerable skeletons on the floor. Regulus picks up a skull in the shape of a house elf’s head.

“Oh dear,” Dumbledore murmurs. 

Sirius grunts noncommittally. “Shame it wasn’t Kreacher.

Regulus’s face darkens. “Brother-“

“A very brave man said something that’s stuck with me for a long time,” Lucy cuts in, shooting Sirius a stern look. “I don’t remember the exact words, but the gist of it was that you can tell a man’s character by how he treats his inferiors, not his equals. You, Sirius Black, are not very kind to those you consider beneath you.”

Dumbledore eyes her appraisingly as Sirius drops his gaze to the smooth stone walls.

“Wise words, Miss Tonks,” the headmaster says.

She nods almost absentmindedly, peeringdown the darkness. “He had his moments.”

“Then I’m sorry for your loss, Lucy,” Flitwick says as passes her to traverse deeper into the passage. The witchlight follows him, casting strange shadows on the piles of bones.

“He’s not dead yet. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Their trek seems to last an eternity. Lucy grips her wand tight, trying to ignore the fearful sloshing around in her stomach. She isn’t a Gryffindor. She isn’t made for these haphazard adventures. She’s a Slytherin. She wants plans for her plans and escape routes for her escape routes. The Chamber of Secrets only has one way in and one way out and a deadly creature at the heart of it all.

Eventually, Flitwick pulls up short. Dumbledore casts another spell, this light smaller and brighter. It hovers above the two professors, zipping this way and that as they look up and up and up at the shedded snakeskin.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lucy curses. She knew it was big, but, “Jeeeesus fucking Christ!”

Sirius shoves past her to join the others, his handsome features glowing with wonder and zeal. Lucy lingers against the wall with her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You wanted to come kill that?”

Regulus stands close enough to press his arm against hers in a subtle show of comfort.

“It’s asleep,” she reminds him weakly.

“Let’s hope it can die in its sleep.”

Lucy sighs and forces herself to step forward. Regulus follows close on her heels, a warm presence at her back. The basilisk skin is dry and smooth against her palm and crumbles like thin parchment under her severing charm.

“What the fuck?!”

She shrugs as she passes it to Regulus, who banishes it somewhere. Knowing him, straight into Severus’s lap.

“You could always give some to Lily,” she reasons. “Or Potter. His father’s a potioneer, isn’t he?”

Sirius grumbles, but quickly cuts out his own large portions of molt. Dumbledore soon follows their example, casually chatting about Nicolas Flamel as though he were a friendly neighbor.

(Miles above, James Potter shrieks as a slimy piece of green snakeskin plasters itself to his face. Remus Lupin sniffs it, shudders, and opens the door to call for Lily, only to find her bounding up the boy’s stairs, proclaiming her love for Sirius Black and sounding all too happy about a basilisk.)

(In the dungeons, a first year slowly backs away from a gleeful Severus Snape.)

They continue on after Flitwick collects a sample for his goblin relatives. Lucy asks him about goblin alchemy and magic in an attempt to soothe her nerves. It doesn’t work. It only reminds her of Hufflepuff’s goblet waiting in the heart of Gringotts. She fears stealing from the goblins more than she does breaking into Malfoy Manor.

 _One step at a time, Luce. One step at a time_.

The entrance to the Chamber is simple enough to break through. It’s compromised entirely of parselmagic wards. Her years of study have finally come to fruition, a fact not lost on Albus Dumbledore. He watches her with cold calculation, even as he helps untangle the weave of protective enchantments. Sirius, god bless him, does his best to defuse the tension by arguing with his little brother. Or at him, rather. Lucy always thought of Regulus’s equanimity as a part of his unbalanced psyche. Now she wonders if it’s only a result of growing up alongside Sirius Black.

Flitwick gives a little cheer as one of the stone snakes slithers away, allowing the door to creak open. The headmaster pushes through first, casting several spells before waving the rest of them through.

Her first thought is of the Lord of the Rings. The first movie, when they’re in the underground city and the the drums begin a sinister rhythm. It looks just like that, only damp and tinged with green. Magic is heavy in the air. Not necessarily dark, just powerful and thick, like a humid summer day in the Deep South. Thick columns line the walls, wooden serpents both magical and mundane coiled threateningly around the stone. At the very end, a statue of an ugly wizard scowls out at the room with austere disdain. 

Sirius is the first one to break the silence with a heartfelt, “What a git.”

“It is an acquired taste,” says Dumbledore, who is dressed in revolting yellow robes.

“Do your dungeons look like this?” Sirius asks incredulously.

“No,” Regulus and Lucy answer as one. 

“It’s impressive magic for a wizard,” Flitwick reasons, though he too is eyeing the statue with incredulity. “There’s not a trace of goblin here.”

“But why?!”

“Well, I’m sure controlling a basilisk did wonders for his ego,” Lucy points out.

“I don’t think I’d want to a basilisk,” Regulus says thoughtfully, as he wanders over to examine one of the carved snakes. 

“Bullshit.”

“No, they’re much too cumbersome. If I were a parselmouth, I’d bond with a black mamba. Quick, lethal, and on brand.”

Flitwick regards Regulus with raised brows.

“Put some thought into it, have you?” Sirius spits.

“Silence, gentlemen,” Dumbledore intones.

He waves his wand at the statue, revealing a nest of emerald wards blooming from Slytherin’s mouth.

“If I conjure a broom, I may be able to fly up and transfigure his beard into a ledge of sorts. From there, Lucy can dismantle the wards while I retrieve the roosters. I suspect one crow will wake the basilisk from its slumber and the next will prove fatal.”

“No need to conjure a broom, Professor,” Lucy says, already digging in her bag.

“Is that from Vivienne Westwood’s latest collection?”

“Yes, Regulus, it is.”

“How exceedingly lovely. I’ve always admired her designs.”

“Wait, didn’t you tell me she’s a muggle?” Sirius asks.

“Sure is,” Lucy confirms.

She taps the broom to unshrink it, a Nimbus bought secondhand for situations just like this one, then passes it over to Dumbledore, who accepts it with a nod before kicking off and soaring into the air. Its an odd sight, Dumbledore on a broom. Not the first thing that comes to mind when his name is mentioned. 

“How do _you_ know who she is, then?!”

Regulus shoots Lucy a sly grin and a wink. “I’m a man of mystery.”

“Don’t you flirt with her.”

“Why not? She’s only our cousin.”

Lucy bites back a groan. She glances over at Professor Flitwick. He has his back turned to them, his head tilted back to watch Dumbledore at work, but his shoulders are shaking suspiciously. The pronouncement, embarrassing though it is, leaves Sirius confounded into blessed silence.

“The landing is secure for whoever would like to summon the broom first,” Dumbledore’s voice suddenly calls.

Lucy goes first, seeing as it’s her broom and fake vision. Dumbledore has merged several strands of Slytherin’s hair to his bottom lip. Although fairly insulting and absolutely ridiculous, it’s sturdy and wide enough for them all. She sends the broom back down with a flick of her wand before settling in to work on Slytherin’s parselmagic.

Her nerves worsen with each thread she snaps. There’s a basilisk, a real fucking basilisk, on the other side of the wall. So many things could go wrong. They could wake it up too soon, the roosters might not wake it up at all. Lucy could die. Sirius could die. Dumbledore could die, which would basically mean the end of Britain as she’s ever known it.

“Lucille,” a soft voice says, “your hands are shaking.”

Lucy looks up to find Dumbledore peering over his spectacles with a grandfatherly gaze.

“My father always said shaking hands make for shoddy spellwork,” he jests, his blue eyes twinkling.

Lucy chokes out a sob. She lowers her wand to wipe at her forehead, loose wisps of hair catching on her watch.

“Doesn’t work on me, old man,” she wheezes, struggling to breath past the pain in her chest.

“Fucking bleeding heart Gryffindors,” a deep voice grumbles and then her vision is overtaken by a pristine white shirt.

Regulus Black casts a stinging hex, the sound of her startled cry ringing throughout the chamber. He grips her chin tightly and forces her to meet his icy gaze. She blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of the world through the sudden pain. Distantly, she’s aware of Professor Flitwick struggling to ward off the others.

“Get yourself together, Tonks.”

Indignant rage begins stir beneath all of the fear and despair, cocking it’s head to better hear. Regulus squeezes her jaw. All of her wild thoughts narrows on to him. 

“You’re better than this. Since when is the great Lucy Tonks a blubbering fool?”

“I’m not a-“

“Then prove it,” he hisses, shoving his face into hers. “You’re supposed be the nastiest Slytherin to come to Hogwarts since the fucking Dark Lord. Get your shit together and act like it. He would laugh at you if he could see you know. Have you heard him laugh, Lucy? So high and cruel?“

“Fuck off, Regulus!” She pushes him off with a surge of hateful energy.

He staggers back with a wicked grin nearly splitting his face in two. Her heart speeds with every word he whispers until she’s afraid it’ll burst straight through her chest. She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to center herself around his deep voice.

“Hone it, Lucy. Think of him. Think of Violet. Think of Severus. Think of that sharp kind of his, that delicious power he works so hard to hide. Think of what he could do with. Think of all that he’s capable of and think of what he will never be. Think of what they’ll make him into, Lucy. Hone it. Sink it into your bones. Breathe it into your lungs. Hone it, Lucy, and we can make them bleed.”

She opens her eyes. The air is cleaner. Her visions is sharper, the colors stark and bright. The magic isn’t as suffocating and damp as it was before. Instead, it weighs down on her skin in the embrace a lover heavy with exhaustion and covered in sweat. 

“There you are,” he breathes.

Lucy doesn’t pay him a bit of attention. He isn’t important. None of them are. All that matters is the green threads of magic glowing in the dim light. Her wand is steady as she plucks them methodically, severing them one by one viciously. Something substantial grows in her chest with each flick of her wrist, a blacksmith folding steel in on itself over and over until a blade is formed.

_Hone it._

The gate slides down in an ominous silence. Lucy holds out her other hand expectantly. When nothing happens, she looks over her shoulder.

“A rooster, gentlemen.”

“Miss Tonks,” Dumbledore says in the careful voice she’s so used to ( _There you are._ ). “I will be going first. You may accompany me-“

“Headmaster, I don’t think you understand. I am not a Gryffindor; I am a Slytherin. There are quite a few things I desperately want out of this life and I won’t be able to have any of it if I’m dead. Believe me when I say that I will run out of here with my tail between my legs at the first sign of trouble. This is my kill. I’ve earned it.”

Dumbledore holds her gaze with a frightening intensity. Soft tendrils brush against her mind. She grits her teeth, strengthening her shields against the oncoming attack. It never comes. Instead, Dumbledore waves his wand, conjuring of the roosters from the nearby crate into his empty arm. He offers it to her, a feathery, clucking olive branch.

“Thank you.”

She cradles it to her chest and stalks off into the corridor.

All in all, it’s rather anti-climatic. Nothing like the intense, heady rush she got from clearing the Gaunt shack. It’s a simple as hexing a rooster and tossing it into a gaping well. The walls and floor shudder as something massive begins to move, but she’s already thrown in the next bird Dumbledore spells through. It screeches indignantly, almost comically, before it’s rancorous crow echoes off the round enclosure. The shuddering comes to an abrupt halt.

Flames appear from nowhere. At first, she assumes someone cast a spell, but then another bird materializes from the fire. Fawkes trills softly before plunging down in a scarlet blur. As though summoned, Dumbledore enters with the others quick on his heels. Everyone holds their breath until the phoenix flies back up to assure them that beast truly is dead.

She knows she shouldn’t do it. She knows it’s a stupid idea as soon as it comes to mind, but she’s always been too curious for her own good.

Lucy sidles over to the lip and peers over the edge. A monolithic snake is curled in on itself, vivid green coils never-ending. It is impossibly, frighteningly, imperceptibly large.

 _A twelve year old fought that,_ she thinks. _A twelve year old fought that and killed it._

After she’s hurled and charmed her vomit away, Lucy sits down and wraps her arms around her legs. She watches the others as they work what comes next. The goblins will be called in to harvest the corpse and work out the finances. All very discreetly, of course.

“If the Dark Lord learns what has transpired here, all of our lives will be forfeit,” Regulus says.

Sirius jolts to attention. “Right, then I’m flying down to get a fang.”

_Oh, Sirius, you wonderful, clever man._

“What?!”

“There’s not much he can do against a basilisk fang, is there?”

“How do you plan on stabbing the Dark Lord with a basilisk fang?!”

“I don’t,” Sirius shrugs, “but it would still be....”

He trails off as Fawkes appears once more, this time clutching something in his talons. He drops the ratty brown bundle over Sirius’s head, who catches it on instinct alone. Lucy jumps to her feet.

“Reach inside,” she orders.

Sirius gapes down at the worn fabric in his hands. “What?!”

“That’s the Sorting Hat. Reach inside!”

Dumbledore’s eyes widen behind his half-moon spectacles. “Yes, Sirius! Quickly!”

“What the blithering fuck is going on?!” He cries, even as he shakes the Hat out and reaches in. He makes an aborted, shocked noise when his hand brushes against something inside. Sure enough, a gleaming silver sword is pulled out of the Hat.

Lucy hastily summons the broom and shoves it at Sirius. “Goblin-made silver absorbs whatever it touches. Stab the basilisk and it will imbibe itself-“

“With the venom! You’re a genius, Lucy!”

He throws his leg over the broom and dives without a second thought.

Dumbledore turns to Lucy with a pensive expression.“Have you Seen that happen before?”

Lucy chews on her lip. “After, technically.”

“Ah....You mentioned a twelve year old. Could you possibly tell us what was meant to happen?“

She sighs and looks up at the ceiling for some sort of sign. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. She’s too tired and amped up to think it all through. Surely just knowing this one part wouldn’t hurt. It might even make him trust her. He does love his Potters and his Gryffindors.

“In around twenty years, Lord Voldemort possesses a first year named Ginny Weasley to open the Chamber of Secrets. Eventually, she’s taken down here and left to die. James Potters’ son, Harry, comes down here with a professor and Ginny’s brother to try and save her. They all get separated and twelve year old Harry Potter is forced to fight off a basilisk with only Fawkes and the Sorting Hat to help.”

“And he killed it with the sword?!” Regulus asks incredulously.

“Stabbed it right through the roof of its mouth.”

Dumbledore seems to have stopped functioning. He stares at Lucy with his mouth hanging open the slightest bit. _I’ve killed a basilisk and broken Dumbledore_ , she thinks. _I’m on a fucking roll tonight. Someone call for Voldemort while I’m at it._

“Does he live?” Flitwick asks gently.

“Fawkes cried for him,” she shrugs.

Regulus shakes his head. “Cheeky little bugger, then.”

A tired smile curves at Lucy’s lips.

“Wanna hear something funny? The Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin, but he met Malfoy’s son on the train and begged to go anywhere else.”

Slowly, all four of them dissolve into laughter. When Sirius reemerges with bulging pockets and a bloodied sword, his grin dies into a petulant frown.

“What did I miss?”

* * *

  
Dumbledore makes them go to the Hospital Wing. In the dead of the night, Regulus sneaks past Lucy’s partitions and lowers himself into the bedside chair.

“Do you think anyone will buy it?” He wonders.

The official story is that a cluster of acromantulas wandered onto the castle grounds. Sirius and Lucy were dueling, as they can often be caught doing, when the creatures attacked. Sirius was gravely injured in the fighting and Regulus was called in for a blood transfusion to flush out the venom. The castle was on lockdown while Dumbledore and Flitwick scoured the grounds to ensure that no other creatures had escaped the Forest.

“It’s just unbelievable enough to be true.”

“More believable than the truth.”

They sit in a companionable silence, listening to Sirius’s breathing two beds over. 

“Thank you for earlier,” she says softly.

He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s my job as the King.”

“You’re good at it.”

“Not as good as you could be, I imagine. The mantle should have passed to you.”

“King Lucy,” she muses. The words don’t taste right. It’s never been about power for her. “I’d be terrible. I don’t have the patience to care for the children.”

“Neither do I. I send them to Slughorn.”

Lucy huffs a laugh. Regulus may be half mad, but he’s clever and capable and so strong....

“Regulus....”

She rolls around in the bed to peer up at him. The moonlight illuminates his pale skin and darkness his hair and the shadows in his face. He looks like a painting.

“I don’t know if I like that tone,” he says, eyeing her just as baldly. 

“If you needed information about muggle London, how would go about getting it?”

He furrows his manicured brows. “I would probably ask Severus.”

“No, I mean something specific. Too specific for magic to find.”

“Then I would definitely ask Severus.”

“And if it was a secret? Something you didn’t trust Severus with?”

“Then I’d hire a muggle to do it for me and obliviate them after.”

“You’d....” Lucy trails off, her jaw dropping. “You’d just hire someone?!”

“Why ever not?”

“You rich Tory bastard,” she whispers in awe.

One side of his mouth pulls up in a smirk. “It’s a good thing you just came into a basilisk of a fortune, isn’t it?”

Lucy smirks back. “Do you think they can make basilisk boots?”

“I’ll arrange it if I get my own.”

“Done,” she says, holding out her hand.

“Done,” he agrees, shaking it.

And because he’s a Slytherin, because he’s a Black, he pushes a little power through his skin to seal it in magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like Regulus won by a landslide! But don’t worry, this story is still more plot-oriented.
> 
> I’ll fix the spacing and any missing italics when I’m on my desktop again. I’ll be out of town for a couple of days so it might take a week or so. 
> 
> Next up: torture.


	7. No Running in the Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait and post this on Friday but I couldn't hold back.
> 
> Also, I know it’s canon that James and Sirius were the best students in Hogwarts, but I wanted Lily to have a more substantial role than just a sacrifice, so I made her kick some ass in this chapter. Plus I think the dynamic of James being in love with Lily because she beats him regularly in duels is adorable.

Summer fades to fall and fall turns to winter in a dizzying blur. The investigator’s bi-monthly reports seem to take eons to arrive. Lucy spends her time researching and dueling and planning, planning, planning. Finally, one rainy day in November, James Potter and Lily Evans approach Lucy’s cluttered table in the library. 

Lucy’s never liked Potter. She’s too loyal to Severus to feel otherwise. Lily, on the other hand, she cares nothing for either way. Except to admire her hair, of course. It’s a vibrant shade of deep red that most women spend paychecks to achieve and still never manage to get. 

“Can I help you?” Lucy asks. 

“We’re here to pass a letter along from Andromeda,” Potter says. 

She glares at him, waiting for him to lay it on the table. He never does. He only stares back with a contemplative expression. Lucy supposes he’s handsome enough, but he’s no Sirius Black or Tom Riddle. It’s more in the way he holds himself, the natural authority he commands, much in the way Severus does. Lily apparently has a type. 

“Well?” Lucy snaps. “Where is it?”

Potter’s gaze rakes over her body in a considering way. Although it’s obviously not sexual, Lucy glances at Lily uneasily. Teenage girls are petty creatures. She doesn’t seem upset, fortunately. Only amused. 

“I wanted to talk to you about Sirius.”

Lucy scoffs and returns to scribbling out notes in her journal. “I don’t have the time for this, Potter. Leave the letter and go.”

“He’s too good for you.”

Lucy stills. There is a moment where she cautions herself: he is just a child, they are children and she is an adult. Then, with a heady rush, she realizes it isn’t quite true anymore. At seventeen there is still room to grow and mature, but he’s old enough to know better. He’s old enough to learn. She doesn’t have to hold it back any longer. 

Lucy drops her pen, closes the journal, and laces her fingers together. 

“And how do you figure that, Potter?” She asks calmly. 

He furrows his brows. “Er...Pardon?”

“What makes you say that I’m not good enough for Sirius Black?”

“He’s a good person.”

“And I’m not?”

“Well, he-“

“I’ve never played an embarrassing prank on anyone. I’ve never bullied anyone, especially for things beyond their control. I’ve never endangered someone’s life and betrayed a friend’s trust for fun. Oh yes, Potter, I know all about last year. I know all about your friend’s furry little problem. And yet I haven’t said a single thing because I am a good person. I’ve kept my head down and minded my business. What’s the school motto, Potter?”

He rolls his eyes, ignoring his girlfriend’s almost desperate tug on his hand. “You can’t seriously be comparing yourself to a dragon, Tonks. I’ve seen you duel in class.”

“Not everything is solved with a duel, Potter, and I have never encouraged-“

“Well, well, well.”

Gawain Yaxley steps around the bookshelf and into Lucy’s alcove. In her opinion, he’s one of the Slytherins that would have been sorted in Gryffindor if it were not for his ambition. Brash, brutish, and completely ridiculous. Cannon fodder for the Dark Lord. 

“What have we here?” He sneers, tucking a lock of brown hair behind his ear. It makes Lucy want to vomit or laugh or maybe both. He’s trying so hard to be another Regulus and isn’t nearly good looking or suave enough to pull it of. “Potter trying collect another mudblood?”

Both Evans and Potter flush with anger, but Lucy scoffs loudly before either of them can speak. 

“Come on, Yaxley. You know I’ve got better taste than James Potter.”

“I don’t know what goes through a mind like yours.”

“I know,” she says with faux sympathy, “but we’re all really proud of you for trying to keep up.”

“You little cunt,” he hisses. 

Potter forgotten, he prowls forward with his fist clenched around his wand, teeth bared in a pale imitation of a threat. Lucy watches him approach with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. She’s heard it all since the moment she stepped in the common room six years ago. At this point, their insults are predictable and boring. 

“I’m sick of you,” he snarls. “I’m sick of your kind. You think you’re so special. You think you’re so bright. You’re wrong. You’re all wrong. You disgust me.”

He stops just in front of her chair and braces one hand on the desk and the other behind her shoulder. He leans down close enough to kiss, his sandalwood cologne nearly overpowering her senses. She studies the red bumps on his jaw from his morning shave. So strange to think of Death Eaters doing such mundane things. Does Voldemort shave? Does he brush and floss? 

“You’ll be how I earn my Mark,” he says, spittle landing on her nose. “I’ll have you _writhing_ under my wand before I present your body to the Dark Lord. And after you, I’ll kill your fat brother, his slut wife, and their mudblood daughter.”

Lucy stills. Her heat stutters, then quickens to an alarming speed. It’s a terrible, horrible thing, but she’s dreamed of those words for three years. There are very few reasons Slytherin House would accept her acting against one of their own. Even then it wouldn’t be absolute. After all, an inferior does not deserve what its master holds. This, however, is something they can understand. Violence. Revenge. Family.

 _Hone it_ , Regulus had said. _Settle it into your bones. Breathe it into your lungs._

“Oh, Yaxley,” she whispers, raising one hand to caress his cheek. He jerks away, face suddenly bone white, but she twists the tip of her wand into his knee. She could turn it into sludge with one word. Just one lovely Latin word. But that would be too kind. “You beautiful boy.”

 _Expelliarmus_ , she thinks, and his wand clatters across the desk.

Lucy stands, pressing her chest against Yaxley’s as she does. His green eyes widen as their robes slide against each other. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I swear. I’m sorry.”

Lucy swipes her thumb across his smooth skin, peering up at him through her lashes. His throat bobs nervously. 

“You’ve fucked up, Yaxley. You just threatened to kill my three year old niece. You just threatened to kill a Black in front of witnesses. Your uncle Corban can’t get you out of this one.” 

A broken whimper escapes from his lips. He jerks his head to Potter. 

“I didn’t mean it, Potter,” he swears feverishly. “I didn’t mean it. It was just a joke.”

“Real funny joke, mate.”

Yaxley’s thin lips press into a flat line. “Regulus won’t allow this,” he tries. “He won’t-“

“Regulus is unstable, my love,” Lucy gently reminds him. “He won’t turn down a little bloodletting. Speaking of which...”

With one jab if her wand, he freezes in place. His clothes disappear in another swish. He stands frozen in nothing but silk boxer briefs, aristocratic pale skin on full display. 

“Er, mate-“ Potter begins, but Lucy shushes him as she reaches into her bag. She’s nearly up to her shoulder in books and potions and snacks before she feels the smooth glass of an empty vial. 

Muffled screams come from Yaxley when she holds it up to the light. Ravenclaw blue, perfect for preserving blood samples.

“Oh, _silencio_ , you coward. How do you ever expect to serve Voldemort if you can’t handle a filthy little mudblood like me?” She aims her wand at his wrist and whispers, “ _Diffindo_.”

“Tonks!” Potter cries. Strangely enough, Lily Evans holds him back.

A thin line appears across Yaxley’s wrist. Blood wells down onto his palm a heartbeat later. The vial is filled disappointingly fast. She’d have liked for him to writhe a bit more. Quick as whip, Lucy slashes his other wrist, then jabs her wand dangerously close to his eyes. He falls to his knees with a silent scream as the paralyzation dissipates, his wrists pressed together frantically.

Lucy bends down to cup his chin. 

“I’ll make sure your wand gets to Regulus, but you best run along now. Madam Pince will throw a fit if you make a mess in her library.”

She presses her lips against his softly. 

“Go, darling. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Yaxley scampers up, his bare feet slapping against the stones. Shrill screams echo through the stacks not a moment later. Lucy allows herself a triumphant smile before she begins packing the books up. 

“You’re fucking mental,” Potter accuses. 

Lucy glances over at them. She’d nearly forgotten her audience. 

“You said it yourself, Potter. I’m a shit duelist.” She conjures another vial and waves her wand so that the blood bottles itself away. “The best hope I have is making them so paranoid they slip up.”

She shoulders her bag and holds her hand out.

“I wasn’t lying. I really am going to give his wand to Regulus.”

Potter narrows his eyes. “I’ll take care of that.”

“The letter, then.” 

He jolts in surprise, having forgotten why he came to her in the first place. He passes it over after fumbling around in his robes for a while. 

“The littlest snakes will get the wand to him fastest. Eager to please and all that,” she advises. “I’ll see you in Defense tomorrow, yeah?”

Without another word, she spins around a bookshelf, make sure she’s alone, then shifts into a raccoon and scampers away. 

Back in her dorm, Lucy unfurls the sealed parchment. Stark white printer paper hides innocently in the folds. She reads the typed letter three times before she can let herself believe it. 

Detective Jenkins has found the cave. 

* * *

No one notices Lucy arrive in Defense the following morning. They’re too captivated by a group of Gryffindors clustered against the far wall. James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Lily Evans are crowded around Sirius Black, whispering and hissing and pleading to deaf ears.

With sudden clarity, Lucy realizes that Sirius is not the boy she has thought him to be. Standing in a calm rage and burning grey eyes, she realizes that he is dangerous. He is the man that survived thirteen years in Azkaban. He is the man that dueled Bellatrix Lestrange and _laughed_. And just like that, Lucy is newly determined to see him become all he can be. She’ll be damned if they put him away this time. She’ll set the damn veil on fire until it spits him back out.

“Miss Tonks,” Professor Diaz greets. “Would you mind closing the door?”

There is a sudden clutter from the Slytherin side of the room. Gawain Yaxley edges further into Severus Snape’s shadow as her gaze alights on his spot under the window. 

“Of course, Auror Diaz.”

Lucy closes the door and crosses the room to stand at her usual spot beside Severus. He arches a brow down at her. She responds with a cheeky smile before she bends around him to beam at Yaxley. 

“Hello, Gawain. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

He stares back, his face warring between rage and fear until Sirius barks out a laugh from across the room. It immediately drops into an expression of bone-deep terror. 

Professor Diaz clears his throat in a call for attention.

“I don’t know what it is that’s happened, but I’ve told you before to leave the war outside that door. Whatever happened last night, I want you to forget about it. Now, as you can see, we’ll continue with the dueling roster-“

Shafiq raises a trembling hand as she says, “Professor, with all due respect, I’m not sure that is appropriate for today.”

“I disagree, Miss Shafiq. I’d rather you vent your anger under adult supervision if you act upon it at all.”

The Slytherins immediately avert their eyes to the floor or the ceiling, all too aware that Lucy has something suitability dramatic brewing. The professor naively takes it for acceptance.

“Now,” he announces. “It looks like I’ll have to bump Black up on my list, given his attitude today.”

“Professor, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Potter cuts in. 

Auror Diaz rolls his eyes. “What did I just say, Potter? Better in here than out there. Come on, Black.”

Sirius discards his robe, pulls half of his hair back, and loosens his tie before he strides to the wide chalked circle. The professor sighs and looks back down at his list. 

“Shafiq, you’re up.”

Shafiq winces, but she doesn’t complain. It must have been why she spoke up. Lucy can’t blame her. She certainly wouldn’t want to have to face off against Sirius any day, let alone in a mood like that. Nonetheless, Shafiq casts a spell at her hijab and enters the circle with poise. 

They bow, and he has her tumbling into her housemates with two slashes of his wand. 

He smirks up at the Slytherins in a mocking taunt. 

“Next,” he demands.

Auror Diaz raises a brow. “Robinson.”

Robinson at least manages to get in a protego before he trips headfirst into the stone floor. 

“Next,” Sirius drawls. 

The professor sets his list aside and strides forward to the very edge of the circle, eyes roaming over his class in consideration. 

“Robinson and Tonks,” he finally says. 

Lucy startles. “What?”

“Robinson and Tonks.”

“Why?!” She blurts. 

“Because I want to see what he’s capable of.”

Lily Evans shoves her way to the front, her chin high and sleeves already rolled up to her elbows. 

“Let me at him. Pair him with me if you really want to see what he can do.” 

Auror Diaz frowns. His dark eyes dart from Lily to Sirius and back again. After a long moment, he nods slowly. 

Very well,” he concedes. 

Lily grins wickedly, causing several Gryffindor to blanch, and Severus to nearly faint with desire. The professor shakes his head in exasperation. 

Lily and Sirius manage to put on a riveting show, a true rarity for classroom duels. Both of their curses skirt the line of legality. Lily isn’t as quick or reactive as Sirius, but she’s creative. At one point, she overpowers an aquamenti then freezes the puddle under Sirius’s feet. He retaliates with a jet of green flames that make the runes glow in warning. Eventually, Sirius’s anger gets the best of him. He bombards her with rapid fire curses that barrel straight through the dueling wards. Auror Diaz watches chunks fall from the stone walls with a wide-eyed expression. Lily responds in kind, casting an old dark curse that melts through the round dome and puts a sludgy crater in the windowsill. Sirius is so taken aback that he doesn’t see the gentle tripping jinx coming. His wand is in her hand before he hits the floor. 

Lily steps over his prone body and takes three long strides until she is staring into Yaxley’s eyes. Auror Diaz rushes forward, his wand angled to rise, but comes to a sudden halt when she speaks in a clear, cold voice. 

“You ready to try and make me writhe under your wand, Yaxley? No? You sure? What about that baby you said you’d kill, then? You might be able to handle a baby, big, tough wizard that you are.”

She takes another step forward. Lucy isn’t sure if the end of her auburn ponytail is sparking or if it’s a trick of the light. 

“I hope she makes you scream, you slimy toerag.”

Lily abruptly spins on her heel, fiery ponytail whipping through the air. She tosses Sirius’s wand on his panting chest as she stomps out of the class. He raises a two figure salute in thanks. The professor is too busy glowing at Yaxley to reprimand either of them. 

“Class dismissed. I think I need to have a word with Mr. Yaxley.”

In the chaos, Lucy hurries over to drag Sirius to his feet. She leans and whispers something in that makes him throws back his head in a booming laugh. Everyone is too engaged with the fresh gossip to notice. By dinner, the entire school will know what Gryffindor Tower has always been painfully aware of: Lily Evans is terrifying. 

* * *

Lucy strolls into the Slytherin common room at exactly ten o clock. She’s on a tight schedule. Torture at ten and off to destroy a horcrux at half past eleven. The room, already crowded, goes silent as the grave when she enters. 

Regulus Black is reading a book by the massive hearth, completely ignoring the spectacle in the center of the room. There, Gawain Yaxley is curled in a ball on an expensive emerald carpet. A thin layer of sweat coats his skin and the veins in his temples and neck have darkened to a deep violet. The students foolish enough to attempt rescue are nursing blistered hands and scorched arms off to the side.

Regulus looks up at the sudden silence. His full lips quirk into the smallest smile when his gaze meets Lucy’s. The sapphire ring she covets so much glints in the green firelight as he snaps the book closed. 

“How long has he been stuck there?” She asks as he joins her. 

The Slytherins part as they make their way to the center of the room. Violet is nowhere to be seen. It’s probably for the best. She’s never been one for violence or confrontation. Severus, however, smirks up from his seat in a nearby armchair. He may as well have ordered a bag of popcorn from a house elf. 

“A little over two hours,” Regulus answers amicably. “He showered after dinner then came out here to complain about you and Lily Evans. A bit annoying, really.”

“I wanted to drag it out. Make him wonder what was waiting for him. I’m too busy though.”

Yaxley whimpers at their feet. 

“How terribly inconvenient.”

“Mm. Did anyone figure it out?”

“No, actually, I wanted to congratulate you. Even Severus and I were confounded.”

Lucy grins and tips her head back to look at the ceiling. Regulus follows her gaze, letting out a soft noise of enlightenment. A very old, very intricate set of runes and circles have been painstakingly drawn with blood, charcoal, and salt. Yaxley, great bore that he is, is a creature of habit. He sits in the same chair with the same people nearly every night. It was only a matter of time and blood.

“Nobody ever thinks to look up,” Lucy points out.

“Marvelous. How’d you manage it?“

"Disillusionment with sticking charms on the soles of my boots. Tricky part was getting down without waking anyone up.”

The gathering crowd shifts uneasily at the thought of the resident mudblood creeping around while they sleep. Lucy scowls at them all. 

“Oh, grow a spine! I’ve got better things to do than watch over you lot all night. You’re not even that interesting.”

“Tell me about it,” Regulus mutters under his breath. Louder, he asks, “Did you have anything in particular planned?”

She sighs. “No, nothing spectacular. Not with Dumbledore dogging my every move and the time constraints. I have a meeting outside London at half past eleven.”

“That’s a shame. I was wondering if those charms for curing cheese could be used for something else.”

Delight bubbles in Lucy’s chest, making her blue eyes shine bright with humor. That was, in fact, why she’d kept the book for so long. 

“You know, I had that exact same thought.”

Regulus answers with his wolffish smile. “How charming. I’d like to say a few words before you begin.” 

“Of course. After you, Lord Black.”

Regulus smiles magnanimously, truly a king before his court. He’s much better for the role than Lucius, though Lucy could be biased. The other Slytherins are watching them all with apprehension. A few of the older ones don’t bother to hide their incredulity and exasperation, muttering about madness and ‘ _last year, just a few more months of these two_ ’. 

“Good evening. By now, we’re all aware of what occurred last night. I want it to be abundantly clear that I am not here on behalf of my cousins, or whatever it is that I’m supposed to call them now. I am here for Slytherin House.”

He wrinkles his nose as he spares a glance for the student in the floor. 

“Lucille has the right to retaliate against the threats made to her person and family, but it is my duty to protect the reputation of our house. Yaxley threatened a three year old in front of witnesses. _Gryffindor_ witnesses. Have you heard the things they’re saying about us? Have you seen what they’re doing to the younger students? I was late to History of Magic because I had to send a couple of third years to the Hospital Wing in defense of one of my charges and you know I do not like my naps interrupted.”

Severus doesn’t bother to hide his amused snort. 

“To make matters worse, he was publicly humiliated by two mudbloods on two separate occasions and later reprimanded by an auror. The Dark Lord will not be pleased.”

“Please,” Yaxley chokes out, stretching pitifully across the carpet. He peers up with red rimmed, bloodshot eyes. “Please don’t tell. Please.”

“You’re even more of an imbecile than I realized if you don’t think he already knows.” 

Regulus raises his wand and in a very bored tone, says, “ _Crucio_.”

A high, tremulous scream it off the walls as Yaxley’s limbs convulse. They carries on and on, unwavering, until Regulus lowers his wand. His body is still drawn tight even after it relaxes against the floor. The temperature in the room drops dangerously. The younger ones probably haven’t dealt with an infraction as serious as this. As for the older ones, they’re abruptly reminded just exactly who Regulus Black is. His madness is not the charming ploy so many of the girls like to believe. He is a Black. His lineage is a millenia of dark magic and incest. There was never any hope for him. The worst of it all is that he will face no repercussions for whatever he decides to do. He has enough power, wealth, and influence to make even Lord Voldemort treat him with respect in public dealings. 

Lucy shakes herself out of her thoughts and steps forward, her head strategically tilted to the side. She would have liked to wear something more dramatic, but heels and a dress wouldn’t be practical for her dreadful sort of nightlife. Instead, she’s dressed in her combat robes with soft leggings tucked into her basilisk boots. She crouches down to run a finger down Yaxley’s nose. 

“I am of the opinion that a crucio is dreadfully uninspired but they’ll start spouting nonsense if I don’t prove myself capable.”

He whimpers pathetically. 

“Please,” he whines, his eyes wet with tears. “Please, Lucy.”

Part of her, the girl that Ted loves so much, the girl that Sirius thinks she is, hesitates. She doesn’t get off on the power like others do. She’s never been overly concerned with it. It’s always been about survival for her. Lucy wants to live. She wants a long life with Nymph and Ted and Andy and Sirius and Violet and Severus, exploring all thst magic has to offer, traveling the world and learning everything she can. She’s never got off on fear or pain. It’s just so happened that it’s easier to get what she wants if everyone thinks she does. 

Lucy shoves that girl deep inside and occludes as if Voldemort himself were in the room. 

“ _Crucio_.”

Neon red light flashes from the tip of her wand to Yaxley’s chest. This time, his back arches off the carpet and his face contorts into a silent scream. She holds it until the scream comes, higher and more terrible than it was under Regulus. It isn’t that she’s more powerful than Regulus. Quite the opposite, probably. It’s only that she means it more than he ever could. He’s never met Nymph. He hasn’t watched her grow or heard her laugh or woke up to her crawling into his bed.

“You lot always look down on muggles. You think they’re useless and pitiful, but you always forget there’s a reason we have to hide from them.” Lucy summons a silk pillow and transfigures it into a cotton towel, then charms it to Yaxley’s face. “Your arrogance has made you stagnant. Unimaginative. So bored that you resort to genocide because you can’t think of anything better to do. _Aquamenti_.

“Muggles call it waterboarding,” she explains over Yaxley’s choking. “It’s a popular torture technique used on prisoners of war. In fact, some elite soldiers and intelligence operatives undergo waterboarding and other tortures to sort of build a tolerance. It’s a fascinating study on psychology.”

After several minutes, she moves on to dry-boarding, eventually providing a steady commentary on all the muggle torture she’s aware of. Most of it comes from movies or tv shows, but her audience doesn’t know what those are. Coincidentally, some of the demonstrations relieve Yaxley of personal effects that could be useful in spells and potions. Hair, fingernails, blood. It hardly escapes anyone’s notice when his bits and pieces mysteriously disappear. 

Finally, when she’s just about ran out of ideas, the watch on her wrist vibrates. It’s eleven o clock. She bites back a frown. She’d hoped to be done before now. 

“Well, I suppose that all for tonight’s lesson,” she announces. 

She flicks her wand at the ceiling in a complicated pattern. A wave of magic rushes through the room, leaving the iron taste of blood on everyone’s tongues. Yaxley doesn’t even move. He stays prone on the floor, his bruised and blooded chest rising in slow, shallow intervals. 

“Any questions?”

Her classmates stare back at her with queasy expressions. Some can’t even bring themselves raise their gaze from the floor.

Regulus sighs heavily, only partly for show. 

“I do wish you’d come around more often. You make things so interesting.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Please do.” 

He surprises her by pulling her in to kiss her cheek.

“Take care of my brother, Lucille,” he whispers. 

Lucy returns his kiss like Andromeda taught her and promises to keep Sirius from doing anything too reckless. As she leaves, she pauses only long enough to watch Regulus snap at someone to clean Yaxley up before disappearing into the prefect dormitory. Severus lets out a long-suffering sigh as he leaves to collect his potions. Lucy smiles fondly. This is why she does what she does. This is why she is who she is. 

_Settle it into your bones. Breathe it into your lungs._

It isn't enough. Sirius Black materializes in the Hospital Wing hours later with a sword in one hand and a half-dead witch thrown over his other shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re worried about the comfy leggings, she had them commissioned when she had the basilisk boots made. I know they weren’t really in stores for anything other than spandex athletic wear during the 70s-80s. Also it’s my head canon that Sirius is totally into the punk scene and wears dragonhide doc martens. 
> 
> As for Lord V treating Reg with respect in public dealings, it’s important to remember that he only has 4 horcruxes at this point and he hasn’t spent over a decade as a grumpy ghost. In this story, and I think in canon too, he wasn’t quite as insane yet. He’s still playing politics a little bit (though not nearly as well as he did before he split his soul into a million pieces) instead of handing out crucios like candy. He might treat his influential followers like shit behind closed doors, but he has a role to play for everyone else. 
> 
> Sorry for rambling. I’ve just always been so interested with what Tom Riddle could have accomplished, good or bad, if he hadn’t drove himself crazy.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	8. The Defilement of Gryffindor's Sword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be forewarned: Sirius has a dirty mouth when he's frightened.

There is no foreboding storm or dangerous tide, no ominous clouds on the horizon. There are only the stars, the moon, and the sea. Lucy procures a Ravenclaw blue vial to pay the blood toll, much to her own amusement. Passingly, she wonders if she’ll ever get to tell Regulus. He’s dramatic enough to appreciate such a good case of poetic justice.

She and Sirius squeeze through the cave door before it fully opens. As soon as they pass the threshold, it rolls closed with a soft thud. Lucy immediately raises her wand to cast a barrage of detection spells to ensure that they are alone. 

Except for the bewitched corpses waiting in the lake, of course. 

Sirius’s low whistle echoes through the cave. An eerie green tinge reflects off of an unending lake until it is consumed by an unnatural darkness. There is something inherently wrong about the cave. It raises the hair on the back of her neck and erects goosebumps on her arms. Dread blooms in Lucy’s chest, stealing her breath and setting her heart aflame. This isn’t just a defensive fortress to house Voldemort’s soul; it’s his playground. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he murmurs. 

Lucy nods. There’s something wrong and isn’t just the dark magic poisoning the air.

“You ever take divination?” She asks. 

“No. Mrs Potter wouldn’t let us. Why?”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Just wondering if there’s something we should know.”

Sirius raises his brows incredulously. 

“Aren’t you the seer?! Don’t you know what we should know?“

“I don’t know everything. I only know what would have happened in the future.”

“Luce, maybe we should talk to Dumbledore.”

“No.”

Sirius groans and runs a hand over his face. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s the greatest wizard-“

“And that’s exactly why I don’t like him! He thinks he knows everything!”

“He’s Albus Dumbledore. He does know everything.”

“No he doesn’t! It-....”

Lucy rolls her eyes to the heavens. Her frustration quickly fades into unease at what she finds. There’s no ceiling. Only a deep blackness tinged with a pale sickly, green. Sirius follows her gaze and swears under his breath. 

“Sirius, get me through tonight and I swear I’ll tell you everything.”

His handsome face goes as unreadable as his brother’s always is. Lucy tears her gaze away and watches the shadow of a sharp rock dance. A long moment passes before his boots scuff on the damp stone. 

“I’m holding you to it,” he warns. 

“I know.”

His eyes search her face before quickly darting back to the smooth water. She can’t discern if he was satisfied with whatever it was he was looking for. What would he have done with Yaxley? What would he have done if he saw her standing beside Regulus, Unforgivables flowing from their wands with the ease of a lumos? Would he have watched? Would have joined in? Would he have been disgusted? 

“Here’s your boat,” Sirius calls. 

Lucy shoves the thoughts away behind her mental shields. There’s no time for a philosophical crisis. Instead, she trails after him to the far bank, where a small boat floats easily on the water. 

“It’s supposed to be invisible,” she says flatly. 

“Do you want to turn back?”

“No, we can’t risk it.”

“Why not? We know where it is.”

“If something goes wrong, he could move it.”

“It’s not just that,” he barks. “You're hiding something from me.”

Lucy sucks in a sharp breath, the truth tumbling out of her in a rush. 

“Regulus dies here and I won’t risk that. I won’t risk him.”

“No,” Sirius spins on his heel, bringing them so close that their boots kiss. “No. Reggie wouldn’t-“

“Wouldn’t he? Regulus is unstable. He does whatever he wants whenev-“

Sirius waves his hands in her face, a wild gesture that is purely James Potter. “He wouldn’t! He’s-he’s....He’s Reggie.”

“And what would Reggie do if someone borrowed Kreacher and left him to die?”

He freezes as comprehension dawns. He turns on his heel and begins pacing, muttering nonsense under his breath. Lucy shivers a little at the sudden lapse of warmth. She meant to give him seven seconds to digest this new information, but she only makes it to three before she breaks. 

“Can you please be still?!” She snaps. “My nerves are shot. I came straight to you from dealing with Yaxley and Occluding can only do so much.”

He comes to abrupt halt, his gaze cutting into her once more. 

“What did you do?” 

"It doesn’t matter. That fucking locket is all that matters. Can we please get started?" 

He waves his hand absentmindedly and goes back to his pacing. Lucy heaves a great sigh and calls for Coco. The house-elf appears a couple of minutes later, probably hampered by something to do with Nymph. Her big brown eyes take in the cavern until she wraps her skinny arms around herself and huddles against Lucy's legs. 

"I is not liking this place, Miss Lucy. I is not liking it here at all." 

The words claw into Lucy's heart, but she hardens herself against it. 

"I know, Coco. Me either.” She scratches the house elf’s fuzzy head gently, the same way she does to Nymph when they're cuddling in bed late at night. “It’s only for a couple of hours though and it’s all for Nymphadora, every bit of it. And look, Sirius is here.”

They both look over at an irate Sirius Black, who is muttering something under his breath about Slytherins and house elves. 

“Sirius is a fierce warrior,” Lucy says in a very pointed tone, “who will not let any harm come to us. Will you, Sirius?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. He stomps heavily over and holds out his hand to Coco. “I’m taking you across in the boat and then you’ll come back and apparate Lucy over. Sound good?”

Coco nods tremulously, her bat-like ears twitching, and takes Sirius’s hand. Though none too pleased, he is as patient with her as he is capable of being in his agitated state. Lucy watches the darkness greedily swallow their mismatched shapes with dread twisting her stomach in on itself. After what feels like an eternity, a loud crack echoes across the cavern, causing Lucy to nearly jump out of her skin. Coco takes her hand with an apologetic smile and disapparates. 

They reappear on a small island. Sirius stands encircled by the tall, jagged rocks jutting out of the ground and water, his face lit by the emerald glow of the potion. Magic flows from his wand steadily as he casts spell after spell at a stone basin forged into the cavern floor. He doesn’t stop until she and Coco are at his side. 

He shoots Lucy a grim look. “It won’t budge. There’s no way to move it.”

“I figured. You ready?”

He nods, sharp and short. 

Lucy summons a water glass and a rune-engraved vial from her ever present bag. She scoops a sample of the draught and passes it to Sirius before filling the glass with and holding it up to his witchlight. The draught is a beautiful, deep green that is as tantalizing as it is frightening. 

“Bottoms up," she says, and downs it all in one go. 

* * *

Once, when Sirius and his brother were very young, Bellatrix dared them to sneak into the Grimmauld library. They didn't dare touch anything until Regulus caught sight of a silver unicorn printed on a book’s spine. Sirius, being the magnanimous older brother, climbed up to retrieve it. He knew something was wrong as soon as his fingers brushed the cover. The leather was oily and seemed to exhale an hiss against his cheek. He went to abandon the book and climb down, but the smooth sole of his dress shoes slipped on the polished wood shelf. 

The book followed him down. 

It pushed itself off the shelf, landed open on Regulus's arm, and closed down hard. Ink fangs ripped into his pale flesh, blood and shadow pouring from the wound. Sirius did everything he could to pry it off, but only their father’s quick spellwork could set Regulus to rights.

It’s one of the only times Sirius can ever remember being afraid. His panicked helplessness, the book’s odious hissing, Regulus’s screams.

This is infinitely worse. 

Lucy is slumped against the pedestal with her arms curled over her stomach. Her cherubic features are screwed up in pain as she peers up at him through wet lashes. There’s nothing he can do for her. There’s nothing he can do to stop this. 

“Please,” she whines. “Please, Siri. It hurts.”

Sirius grits his teeth. He’s never been a good liar. He’s just good at charming others until they find his fibs amusing. There’s no charming his way through his. There’s no hexing his way to the other side. No runes or wards to puzzle through.

“I know, Luce, but you’ve got to finish it. You finish this draught and I’ll take us to Andy’s and Ted can make you a nice cuppa.” 

Her blue eyes, the entrancing blue that had Remus blushing for months in fourth year, lose their dull shine at the mention of her brother. Sirius, his gut roiling in guilt, exploits her weakness. He shoves the glass down into her hands. 

“Drink it for Ted, yeah? For Ted and Andy and Nymph.”

She chokes it down, gagging and retching the whole while, and throws the glass to the side. Coco freezes it with a snap of her fingers. Initially, Sirius had thought brining a house elf along was absurd. He assumed Coco would be a liability, another body to protect with his ‘fierce warrior’ skills. Instead, she’s proved herself to be an invaluable asset. This is the second time she’s kept something from crashing into the nefarious water. 

Lucy falls to her side with a low wail. Sirius curses as she begins weeping hard enough for her shoulders to shake. So far, there have just been sniffles and pleas. 

Coco holds out another dose of glowing potion to Sirius. He takes it and kneels in front of Lucy. She doesn’t seem to be aware of him. She only stares out into the cave as tears roll down her cheeks. 

“Regulus died here,” she suddenly rasps. 

Sirius very nearly chucks the potion across the island. Only Coco’s stern glance manages to still him. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. He can do this. He’s Sirius fucking Black. He can do anything. 

“So you said,” he grits out.

“I keep seeing it.” Her voice is dull and lifeless. “I keep seeing them pull him down into the water. Kreacher is crying. Regulus is trying not to scream.”

She turns her dead eyes up to Sirius.

“Make it stop. I don’t want hear it anymore. Make it stop, Sirius. Make it stop.”

The potion is seems to weigh at his very soul as he hands hold its out to her. 

“Drink this. It’ll make it stop.”

The more she drinks, the longer it take for her to consume. Finally, after long bout of gentle encouragement, she drops the empty glass and covers her ears with her hands.

“Make it stop. Make it stop. Make them shut up! Just shut up! Make them shut up! SHUT UP AND DIE ALREADY!”

Coco tumbles off her boulder at her sudden scream. Despite his inner protests, Sirius can’t resist peering over his shoulder. There’s nothing. Only the lake and the thick darkness.

“Is that what you hear? Is this what you hear in your cell?”

Sirius swivels around to Lucy. She moans pitifully as another stomach cramp overtakes her. She rides it out with quiet groans and curses. She squeezes herself and presses her cheek against the cold stone. 

“They won’t stop. I tried. I tried, I tried. I tried so hard. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I tried to save them. Forgive me. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

Sirius takes the glass again, meeting Coco’s eyes with desperation. The elf’s ears droop down pitifully, but she pushes him back all the same. 

“Here, Luce,” he says as scrambles down to her level. He raises her shoulders so that she is propped up against his thigh, just high enough for her to swallow. “Drink this and they’ll go away. I promise they’ll go away. 

She manages to spit some of it out on her jeans. Some of it comes back up through her nose. He cleans her face off with his sleeve, his thumb brushing against her soft cheek. She shudders under pain and despair even as Coco floats the next dose down.

“Lucy,” he says. “Lucy, look at me.”

Her brows pull together and her lips press tight, but she manages to focus on his eyes. 

“Lucy, you have to drink this.”

“No. No, no, no. Sirius, please, no.”

Sirius curses and pulls her struggling form further into his lap. “Lucy-“

“No, don’t. Please. I’m sorry. I tried. I’m sorry.”

“Shhh. Shhh, it’s okay,” he soothes, his free hand reaching up to pet at her hair. “Shh. Don’t cry. Just drink this and it’ll be okay.”

“Parched. So thirsty.”

“I know. Drink this and it’ll be alright. Just like Ted’s tea, I promise.”

“Snatchers. Snatchers got him.”

“I know, drink this.”

She only manages a mouthful before she slams the cup down and sits half upright, her head bashing into his elbow. He winces and scoots away.

“Snatchers got him. And Ny-nyyy-“ 

She scrunches her face up against another wave of agony. Her mouth opens in a silent scream. Sirius, cursing himself all the while, takes advantage and forces the rest of the potion down her throat. He shoves the cup at Coco while Lucy gags and wretches against his knee. 

“Only two more, Master Sirius,” the elf squeaks solemnly. 

Sirius lets out a deep exhale. “Thank Merlin. Luce, no. Lucy, look at me.”

Her eyes meet his. They’re clouded over with a madness Sirius has only seen on his mother during her worst bouts. 

“Come on, Lucy. Just two more and we can go home. Two-“

“I watched you fall,” she whispers. A glob of phlegm hangs from her swollen lips. Sirius reaches up to wipe it away. “I watched you fall.”

“I didn’t fall. I’m right here. I didn’t fall.”

“Is this hell?”

“‘Course not. You wouldn’t get to spend time with a handsome bugger like me in eternal damnation, would you?”

“I saw you fall. Both of you. One for the veil and one for the water.”

“Tell me about it. What happened? How did I fall?” He waves his hand at Coco, who magics the cup over to him. “Focus, Lucy. Tell me how I fell.”

“Bel-la.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Hey there, open up.”

“Thirsty.”

“I’ve got some water here for you. Drink it.”

She swallows it around her thick tears, chest heaving as she struggles to breathe. It reminds him think of Regulus’s relentless wails, of his scarlet cheeks, and red, red blood. Sirius pushes the thought away and shoves the glass back at Coco. 

Lucy lets out an almost inhuman moan, her eyes rolling back in her head. 

“Lucy!” He smacks her on the cheek hard enough for her eyes to pop open. “Lucy, stay with me. We’re almost there. One more dose. Stay with me. Coco, hurry up.”

Coco, however, is staring down into the basin with wide, fearful eyes. Big tears begin to well in the corners. 

“Coco....”

“Is evil, Master Sirius,” she whispers. “Is very evil.”

“I know, Coco, but we can’t destroy it-“

“The veil. The veil,” Lucy sobs. “Take me to the veil. Let me die.”

Coco squeals out a horrified cry, finally tearing her gaze away. “Miss Lucy! Miss Lucy, no!”

“Let me die again. Let me die. Please, just let me go back. Let me die so they’ll go away. I tried. I tried so hard. Please just let me die.”

“COCO!” Sirius roars, pushing his magic into the words. “COCO GIVE ME THE DAMN POTION!”

The house elf hastens to obey. Her little hands shake bad enough for it to take three tries to scoop up the last of the draught. All the while, Sirius forces Lucy into a sitting position. She falls over almost immediately, but he can at least move his legs. 

“Here, Coco. Give that to me and take the necklace.”

“I’s cannot. I’s cannot touch it. It is being very evil, Master. Very, very evil.”

“Coco—Fucking hell! Lucy!” 

Lucy doesn’t seem to hear. She is staring off into the lake with that terrible expression of hers. 

“Lucy, drink this! I need you to drink this for me.”

She doesn’t move. Sirius’s heart stops. He throws himself beside her, shoving his hand against her nose until feels a warm exhale against his palm. 

“Fucking hell,” he cries. “Bleeding fucking hell, you crazy witch.”

Sirius props her up the slightest bit and forces her mouth open with his free hand. The potion floods down her throat in a rush. She convulses, her entire body trying to fight against the odious liquid. He lets her drop to the floor with a heavy thud. His wand slips out and rolls under her, but he can’t do anything about that now. She planned for this and he has to follow the plan. 

Coco is staring into the dim basin again, swaying slightly on her skinny legs. Sirius can feel it now. It is calling to him, a smooth dark presence. He shoves his Occlumency shields flat. Everything dulls. His fear, his panic, his guilt. The horcrux’s soothing whispers.

Sirius pulls the sleeves of his jumper down to lift the necklace’s silver chain. The locket is just as ugly and gaudy as the bloke’s statue.

“Coco, summon the box,” Sirius orders.

She snaps her little fingers and an iron box engraved with runes appears in her hands. Sirius drops the horcrux in, the lid snaps shut, and blessed silence flows onto the island. They take a moment to breathe it in, relishing in the clean air, when a splash sounds. It’s a quiet thing to be so damning. 

Sirius spins in time to see the empty glass disappear under the lake. Nothing happens. Nothing happens for an eternity, until foul silence is broken by another splash, just as dainty as the first, as a pale hand claws up from the water. 

“Regulus,” Lucy breathes. And then she speaks the two words Sirius hoped to never hear. Two simple, silly words that tear his world down. 

“Open sesame,” she whispers. 

Later, he will say he heard it. He will say he heard her false tooth crack. He will say he heard the poison trickle out of the fissures.

Seventy-two seconds, his mind supplies. She said she had seventy-two seconds to swallow the antidote if she ever had to drink the poison.

Sirius scampers across the stone floor in two long strides. He paws at her chest, ripping the neckline of her jumper to reach the necklace. It breaks off with a high snap. He pries her mouth open and shoves the waxy purple stone down her throat. He shifts to get a better angle, to make absolutely sure she swallows, and there is a loud, damning crack. 

He knows what it is before he looks. 

His wand. He forgot his fucking wand. 

Sirius isn’t a small man. He’s just over six feet and as broad as a beater. Lucy, though short, isn’t petite. She has curves that have made the boys and girls of Hogwarts drool since fourth year. His wand never stood a chance under the both of them. 

How could forget his fucking wand?!

“MASTER!” Coco yelps. 

Sirius looks up in time to see her rush forward on her skinny ginger legs, the box tight in one hand and her other raised high. With a fierce little grunt, a wave of magic pulsates from her tiny frame. Several corpses are blown back into the water, taking a handful of their brethren with them. He hadn’t even heard them get so close. 

“FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where’s your wand, Luce? Where’s- there it-....” 

Sirius trails off, dumbstruck. A long silver sword is laying beside them, glinting green under the strange ceiling. 

Maybe it’s his fear and rage. Maybe it’s because of Yaxley’s threat. Maybe it’s thinking so much of Regulus and the library. For whatever reason, Sirius remembers his father telling them a story. He liked it before he knew what it meant. Before he realized how sick it really was. 

Centuries ago, a Black ancestor named Pavo had just created a new spell and wanted to test its mettle. Naturally, he strolled into the nearest Muggle village and slaughtered dozens of men with a flaming sword before the spell sputtered to a stop. Sirius, mouth agape with wonder, asked his Father how to do it. And being the bastard that he was, Cygnus Black used that spell to teach his sons blood magic.

“Bleeding hell, where’s Reggie when you need him?!” Sirius whimpers. 

He’d remember it perfectly. He was always the smarter brother.

Still, Sirius is no fool. He became an animagus at fifteen without a mentor. He’d be top in his classes if he cared to do his schoolwork. He’s Sirius Black and he has a Slytherin’s plan and the sword of Godric fucking Gryffindor. He can do this. He can do anything.

“Hold them off, Coco!” He yells. “I just need a minute.”

Sirius raises Lucy’s ebony wand to the heel of his hand and casts a gentle slicing hex. Blood wells as scarlet as the ruby glittering on the pommel of the sword. He smears it on the very bottom of the blade and calls up his magic. Calls on the darkness in him, the fiery rage, the cold fear, on the sinister ambiance of the room. He calls on it all, chanting and humming an old spell, until black tendrils creep out of his wrist and curl up the sword, just as they do his heart. He chants and sings until it is coated to the tip, and snarls, “ _Flamma_.”

His heart clenches and white and blue flames burst from the sword’s hilt.

Sirius barks out a triumphant laugh, clamoring to his feet in a heady rush. His tiny little house elf is there, both hands outstretched and waves splashing at her ugly feet. Blood is dripping pouring from a patch of missing skin on her shoulder and a chunk has been ripped from her left ear.

”Go, Coco! Hide it and come back!”

She disappears in a loud crack. The inferi pause, just for a moment, before turning to Sirius as one. Sirius grins. He wasn’t made for cautiously waiting in the shadows. He isn’t a Slytherin. He’s a lion. He was made for this. 

With one swing of the sword, Sirius falls into blissful oblivion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another cliffhanger! The next part is in Ted's POV and is shaping up to be too long to be included this chapter as well. Don't worry, it's almost done and will be posted by tomorrow night at the latest! 
> 
> A few commenters seem to be shipping an ot3 with Sirius, Lucy, and Regulus. I'll let you guys vote again. 
> 
> A) Sirius/Lucy/Regulus
> 
> or 
> 
> B) Just Lucy/Regulus.
> 
> Also, I'll get to work on replying to your comments as soon as I'm done writing the hospital scene with Ted. Thank you so much for all of them!!


	9. The Badger and the Snakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if you caught it, but in the last chapter Coco was a couple of minutes late when Lucy called for her in the cave. It would have been easier to spot if I didn’t have to split the chapters.

Ted Tonk’s day begins with a rough start. His wife is in a snit because of something she read in her morning tea. His daughter is a snit because her all of her yellow shirts are dirty. By the time he manages to sneak out of the house, Ted is twelve minutes late to work. It all goes downhill from there. St. Mungo’s has been swamped with the war brewing and wizard-flu season around the corner. 

Ted arrives home exhausted to an irate wife, a fussy toddler, and a skittish house elf. 

“Something’s wrong, Ted,” Andy hisses, her curls sparking with anger. “I can feel it in my bones. Nymph can feel it. The damn elf can feel it. Your sister’s gone and gotten herself killed and mark my words, I’m going to kill her for it.”

“Love, you can’t kill someone who’s went and got themselves killed already,” he points out. 

Suffice to say, his evening does not improve after that. 

At half past eight, Nymphadora tucks herself into bed. Ted and Andy collapse into their own soon after. They stare up at the white ceiling and bask in the serene darkness. 

“I’m sorry for what I said about Lucy,” Andy says after a while. “I worry about her is all.”

Ted sighs. He worries about his sister too, but there’s nothing to be done for it. Lucy will do whatever she wants whenever she wants and-

“Maybe it’s Sirius this time,” Andy frets. 

Ted sighs again and flips over so he can nestle closer to his wife. She smells like vanilla and brown sugar and _home_. They are a ragtag bunch, his family, but they are his, down to the displaced heir and the bold house elf. 

“Whatever it is, whoever it is, we’ll weather it together. It’ll all work out in the end. We did, didn’t we?”

Ted manages four hours of sleep before Nymphadora wakes up screaming. They stumble into her bedroom to find Coco already stroking Nymph’s ever-changing hair. It takes nearly a quarter of an hour to calm her down. Just as Coco is about to fetch a glass of warm milk, her tiny frame freezes. Her chocolate eyes swivel to Ted and Andy. 

“It is happening,” she whispers, her grey-brown skin paling to sickly ashen hue.

“What?!” Andy snaps. “What’s happening?!”

“The Plan. The Plan is happening. I is...ooooo, I is not knowing what to do, Mistress Andy.”

“What’s the matter, Coco?” Ted asks kindly, struggling to fight back his own unease.

She tugs at her long ears and looks down at her bony feet. “I is...I is being bought by Miss Lucy, but we is all bonded as family and Master Sirius...”

Andy hums in understanding, her head tilted to the side thoughtfully. 

“Sirius gave you orders that contradict Lucy’s, didn’t he?”

Coco nods. 

“I see. Do you prefer Sirius’s orders over Lucy’s? Is that why you’re so conflicted?” 

Tears well in her big brown eyes as she nods again. _Oh hell_ , Ted thinks, _how could anyone be cruel to someone so sweet?_

“Coco,” he says, “I want you to do what you think is right. Do what your heart tells you to do. It’s what Lucy would want. She wouldn’t want you to be upset.”

“Besides, she’s very good at admitting she’s wrong when it benefits her.”

“Andromeda.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Then I has decided, Master Teddy,” Coco announces. 

“Brilliant! What have you decided, my dear?” 

Coco draws herself up to her full height, which is hardly level with the doorknob at her back. 

“Master Teddy must go to Hogwarts Hospital Wing. It is where we is going when we is finished with The Plan.”

Ted surges to his feet. “The hospital wing?!”

“Yes, Master Teddy. Hogwarts Hospital Wing.”

“Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred!” Andromeda exclaims. “What the hell are they up to now?!”

“They is up to something very brave. I is very proud to be bonded to Miss Lucy and Master Sirius. You’s will be too if you go to Hogwarts Hospital Wing.”

With those dramatic words, Coco disappears with a soft crack. Ted, Andy, and Nymphadora all gape at where she had been standing in her pale pink uniform.

It takes them half an hour to get to Hogwarts. Andy refuses to stay behind, something ridiculous about Ted being as useless as a flobberworm in politics. He doesn’t understand what politics have to do with anything, but he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he floos his best mate, who takes Nymphadora back to his place in Cambridge. Next, he helps Andromeda gather their healing kits and then they’re finally, finally apparating to Hogwarts. 

They arrive just outside the castle gates. Ted takes a moment to relish in the sight of his old school. Hogwarts stands just as proud and welcoming as it did nearly ten years ago, as it would for tens of years to come. The magic a steady beacon of warmth in the cold night. It puts Ted in mind of something Dumbledore once said about finding the light in dark places, which puts Ted in mind of Lucy, because she would slap him upside the head for being such a sentimental Hufflepuff. 

Ted summons his patronus, a shaggy guinea pig, and sends a quick message to Dumbledore. Some time later, they are shocked to see the Headmaster himself appear dressed in a nightshirt and heavy bath robe. 

“Has there been an attack?” He demands as he taps the the gates with his wand. They open just wide enough for the two of them to enter. A weight lifts from Ted’s shoulders as soon as they pass through the wards. If only Nymphadora were old enough to be in Hogwarts, where she would be safe nine months out of the year.

“Should there have been?!” Andy asks, her brows raised dangerously high. 

Dumbledore frowns. Despite his age, Ted and Andy struggle to keep up with his pace as they hurry across the castle grounds. Hogwarts is beautiful at night. The sky is clear, revealing a nearly full moon and sparkling stars. The worst things always happen on the most beautiful days. Mother lost her fight against cancer on a sunny spring afternoon. 

Ted sighs. “No, Professor, there wasn’t an attack. It’s a different sort of emergency. It all started with our house elf...”

Dumbledore quickly casts a privacy charm. He listens carefully as Ted explains everything that happened, beginning with his wife’s morning tea. The two men are so deep in conversation they hardly notice Andy come to an abrupt halt at the top of the grand staircase. 

“Dear?”

“The hospital wing is this way.”

“I thought we might go to my office.”

Andromeda takes one step forward, her eyes gleaming and her wand tight in her fist. Ted fights back a smile; she’s so beautiful when she gets like this. 

“If my sister is going to arrive in the hospital wing, then we are going to be in the hospital wing. I will not take no for an answer.”

“....Very well, Mrs. Tonks. Lead the way.”

The Hospital Wing is just as he remembered it. There are four curtains drawn throughout the long room and bright moonlight filters through the windows. The new healer, Madam Pomfrey, greets them before quickly disappearing to get some rest while she still can. Dumbledore takes the opportunity to cast silencing charms on the slumbering students and summon Professors McGonnagal and Slughorn. The heads of houses floo up quickly, both of them as orderly and put-together as they always were in class. 

After the situation is explained, Professor McGonagall sighs and sinks down into one of Dumbledore’s conjured chairs. The floral upholstery clashes terribly with her tartan robes. 

“Could they not have waited until the weekend, Albus?”

“Is this related to the incident in the library?” Slughorn asks. 

“What incident?” Ted wonders. 

Slughorn glances from Ted to Dumbledore nervously. Distantly, Ted realizes that despite being a father and a much older brother, he is very, very young compared to these men. 

After several long moments, the Headmaster clears his throat. “One of my students confronted Miss Tonks in the library. I do not know what happened, but eventually the student threatened Lucy and you, her family.”

“Her family?!” Ted shouts, rising from his chair. “Family as in who? Me? Andy? Surely not Nymphadora!”

But their grave expressions reveal the truth.

“She’s just a baby,” Ted whispers in horror. 

“Don’t worry, love,” Andromeda says, reaching over to tug him back into his seat. “I’m sure Lucy is taking care of it.”

“Andromeda-“ Dumbledore begins, but Andy sneers down at him over her aristocratic nose. 

“Lucy is a grown witch. It is her right to protect her goddaughter in anyway that she sees fit.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

Andy sniffs haughtily, a remnant of her austere upbringing. “And that’s exactly why I chose her.”

“Then you chose well, Andromeda,” Slughorn says. 

Dumbledore sighs. “Horace, do I dare ask if you know something?”

“Of course not!” He cries, not fooling even ever-oblivious Ted in the slightest. “Only of her retaliation in the library and Ms. Evans’s display in Defense class.”

“Retaliation?” Ted ask warily, just as his clever wife needles, “Evans? Lily Evans? There were witnesses?”

Slughorn bows his head in a model display of solemnity. “Yes, my girl. Lily Evans and James Potter were visiting Lucille to pass on a letter from home. A shame that she cannot entrust us to protect something so trivial as her post, but I have nearly seven hundred students to look after and Lucile has always been so-“

“What did she do?” Ted cuts in. He is all too aware of what Lucy’s months away from home are like. She returns every holiday with new scars and heavy bags under her eyes. 

Surprisingly, McGonnagal is the one to answer. “Allegedly, she took his wand, slit his wrists, and vanished his clothes. With Lily and James unwilling to say anything, however, there is naught we can do.”

“Or should do,” Andromeda snaps. “What did this Lily Evans do in her class?” 

All three professors look anywhere but each other. 

“She cast a perfect autosarcophagy curse in a duel and then challenged the perpetrator in front of the class,” Dumbledore finally reveals. 

Horror blooms in Ted’s chest. Self-cannibalism is an inconceivable concept and to curse someone to such a fate is abhorrent. Just to have the hate inside oneself to damn another living being so...

“Just what exactly did he threaten us with?!” Ted cries. 

Andy, however, is caught on something else. “Where did a muggleborn Gryffindor learn that?!”

Andy’s question brings them all up short until Ted remembers a conversation with Lucy summers ago. It was the first time he’d ever seen her exchange owls with schoolmates. She described Severus Snape as a very reserved and intelligent boy in Slytherin with a muggleborn best friend. They were apparently sharing their ideas on spell creation and magical theory over the summer. Ted almost blurts out the name, but he catches himself at the last moment. He’s been around too many Slytherins to know when to keep names to himself. He’ll tell Andy when they’re back at home. 

Their contemplations are disrupted by a sudden, deafening crack. Ted clambers up, expecting to see his sister and cousin, but is instead met with the sight of a severely injured house elf. 

Coco is covered in blood. A chunk of her ear is missing, a patch of skin has been torn out of her arm, and there are innumerable cuts and bruises besides. The warm brown shade of her skin has paled into a ghastly grey, but it is her eyes that are the worst. He’s only seen eyes like that on soldiers in his muggle history books. 

“Coco! Coco, what’s happened?!” Andy demands, crossing over to their elf. 

Ted is quick to follow. He drops to his knees and begins categorizing her wounds. A house elf’s ears have more nerve endings than a human does in their entire body. It’ll have to be the ear first. Coco pays him no attention as he begins waving his wand at her head. She stares deep into Andy’s eyes and thrusts out a metal box.

“You must take it. You must hide it-“ 

Coco’s frail voice cuts off as she wavers on her feet. She blinks her bulbous eyes several times and sets her mouth into a determined frown, but her knees give out once more. Ted lunges forward to keep her upright. 

Professor Dumbledore strives over with his wand raised, his head inclined to Ted. “May I?”

“That’s for her to decide.”

The headmaster blinks once, twice, and then his beard spreads into an inappropriately bright smile. 

“If only there were more men in the world like you, Ted Tonks,” he says as he lowers himself to one knee. Andy immediately tucks the small box into her robes. 

“Coco, will you allow me to heal you?” Dumbledore asks kindly. 

“No,” she rasps pitifully, tears beginning to streak through the blood and grime on her face. “No, Coco must return! Coco must save her masters!”

“Sirius can take care of himself, Coco. Let Prof-“

“Master Sirius has no wand!” She wails. “His wand is cracking into halves and the dead men-“

Behind them, someone gasps loudly. Dumbledore rises to his feet, his magic unfurling with his long limbs. It is both comforting and frightening. Ted would be helpless against someone like that. Even Sirius would be destroyed with half a thought. But that mighty power is emanating from Dumbledore, a man would only ever use it for good. He defeated Grindelwald. He is the only one You-Know-Who fears.

“Take me and I will save them.”

“You’s cannot. There is wards, wards against wizards-“

“Can you take another house elf?!” Andromeda demands. 

Slowly, Coco moves her head up and down in affirmation. 

“Dumbledore, please,” Andy begins, but he is already calling out for his own house elf. 

“Oddment!”

A very pale, very fuzzy house elf appears in the hospital wing. His blue eyes grow wide when he notices Coco bloodied and shaking. 

“I must ask you to do something very brave for two students of Hogwarts. They are trapped where only a house elf may come and go. Will you allow Coco to lead you and return them all here?”

Oddment puffs out his little chest in pride, but hesitates a little when Coco staggers over to clutch at his arm. 

“Miss, is you well enough-“ He squeaks out. 

“Oh, he’s done it now,” Ted murmurs to himself.

Sure enough, Coco holds her chin up high and nearly rips the poor elf’s limb off with her fierce grip. They disappear with a near violent crack. It echoes again almost instantly.

Sirius Black materializes with a sword in one hand and a half-dead witch thrown over his other shoulder. His jeans are soaked, his eyes are alight with a mad fervor, and he reeks of the heady metallic scent of dark magic. They are all frozen in shock, incapable of doing anything other than gaping at him, until another crack rings through the room. 

A young house elf winces under their combined stares before he squeaks out, “Miss Coco is being healed in the kitchens, Professors.”

He disappears with a snap of his fingers. As if on cue, Sirius launches into action. He props the sword against the nearest footboard and lowers Lucy onto the bed. Madam Pomfrey rushes over and begins casting a barrage of diagnostic charms. Ted longs to join her, but he knows better than to interrupt. He wouldn’t be able to keep a clear head with his sister looking like that. Like his mother had—

All of his despondent, panicked thoughts burn away at the sight of his cousin’s torso. 

“Fucking hell, Sirius, sit down!” Ted cries out. 

Half of his jumper is ripped off. Long claw marks trail along his left arm and a bleeding bite mark mars his chest. Like Coco, his eyes are the worst. Unlike Coco, they are not haunted. They are alive with an fervent insanity that twists at Ted’s guts. 

“Get me Regulus,” Sirius rasps. 

“Sirius, sit down! If that’s what I think it is-“

“I need Regulus.”

Dumbledore eyes the blade with a disturbed expression. Sirius doesn’t seem to notice. An ebony wand- Lucy’s wand, Ted realizes- appears in his hand. He uses it to sever the strap of that blasted bag she carries around everywhere. 

“My boy, I don’t think that’s wise,” Slughorn cautions. 

“I’m keyed into the wards,” he mutters. He sticks his arm into the bag and says, “ _Accio journal_. Have been since the Shack.”

Ted recognizes the thick, leather-bound book that flies from the purse. She bought it back in first year and has been writing in it ever since. He’d discouraged her from buying something so expensive at the time. What could a first year need with a journal charmed to hold a thousand pages? As always, she’d defied his expectations. He wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised to learn that she’s added her own expansions over the years. 

Sirius scowls down at whatever he reads before frantically flipping through the pages. 

“Shouldn’t one of you be going after my brother?!”

“Horace, if you would-“

“No, wait! We need you!” He digs in his front pocket until he procures a scarlet vial, then tosses is at the potions master. “She called it the Draught of Despair. Created by old Tommy-Boy himself. Nasty piece of work.”

Slughorn’s eyes widen under his bushy brows. “And she-“

“What were you-“

“Inferi and-“

“SHUT UP!” Sirius suddenly bellows. Everyone except for Madam Pomfrey edges away. “SHUT UP! Just go find Regulus and please, for the love of Merlin, shut up and let me fucking think! I can hardly keep it together as it is!”

McGonnagal clears her throat in the resounding silence. 

“I’ll go get Mr. Black. Horace, do you need anything else?”

Slughorn uncorks the vial and sniffs. When that reveals nothing, he conjures another vial and transfers the potion over. It’s unlike anything Ted has ever seen, alive with the most entrancing emerald glow.

“I think I’ll need Severus Snape,” he croaks out. 

McGonnagal strides back to the fireplace with a curt nod. The headmaster is much more doubtful. 

“Horace, is that wise? Why not Lily? Young Mr. Snape is-“

“Lucy likes him,” Ted cuts in, almost desperately. He doesn’t care who helps so long as she is healed. “She talks about him sometimes and she never talks about anyone from school.”

The other men ignore him completely. Andy, however, squeezes his hand tight. 

“I haven’t delved into what he has, Albus. I never trusted myself.” Slughorn wipes at his glistening forehead with a handkerchief. “He’s more knowledgeable than I will ever be with combining dark magics with potions, but he hasn’t quite achieved mastery over the art yet. We might be able to save her together.”

“Very well, old friend. Very well. Do what you must.”

A wooden door appears near Lucy’s bed with a wave of his wand. It is in that moment that Ted realizes just how sick Lucy is. Unbridled fear rushes over him in tidal wave. Adjacent potions labs are only necessary for the most severe cases, even at St. Mungo’s. Here, at a school, it must be three times as expensive and difficult to manage. It seems to click for Andromeda at the same time. She lets out a strangled sob and clutches his hand even tighter. 

“Sirius, what happened?” She whispers.

“That’s what I’m trying to find,” he snaps, still thumbing through the book. 

“Mr. Black, its time for me to know now,” Madam Pomfrey interrupts gently. “I’ve managed to stabilize her, but I don’t know how long it will last. We need to know how to neutralize the potions in her system.”

Sirius huffs but he never looks up from the journal as he speaks. 

“We had an idea of what the draught did. Two people sort of died from it before, or after or whatever, but we didn’t...I completely forgot about it and I don’t think-...Here it is!”

He tries to copy the page, but it only glows yellow before rapidly returning to normal. Sirius lets out a long string of curses that has the Matron scowling and Dumbledore’s beard twitching. 

“Her wand’s never liked me,” he grumbles.

“Here, use mine,” Andy says, passing it over quickly. 

This time, the page copies itself without a complaint. Sirius practically shoves it at Madam Pomfrey. Her mouth drops in shock and horror. Dumbledore glides over to make a copy for himself, skimming over it with a grim expression.

“Sirius, why did she activate this? Was someone there?”

“It was the draught. She kept saying she wanted to die. The Draught made her want to die, but I forgot about that damn tooth of hers so I didn’t think anything of it. She said the password and I was so worried about getting the antidote down her throat that I forgot my wand fell. It cracked and the sword was there and there were so many of them. There were children. He killed children and turned them into those things and they were-...I-I had to do. I had to do it. There were so many.”

Distorted speech, shaking hands, blueing lips. Shock is finally beginning to set in. 

Madam Pomfrey swishes her wand, bringing the next bed closer to Lucy’s. Ted waves her off. He may not be able to help Lucy, but he can manage patching Sirius up.

Ted has just shoved a calming draught down his throat when the floo turns green again. McGonnagal steps through with two more students. They are both tall and slender and dark haired yet look nothing alike. The one who must be Severus Snape has glittering black eyes that immediately lock onto Lucy’s prone figure. The other could be Andromeda’s twin. They have the same deep-set eyes, aristocratic nose, and arched brows. He can be none other than Regulus Black. 

As Ted casts his healing spells, Regulus Black floats over to their beds with an air of polite curiosity. If he is troubled or disgusted by Ted and his family, he does not let it show. His nonchalance does not waver when his eyes catch on Sirius’s bloody wounds or Lucy’s chalky complexion or Dumbledore’s warning expression. The facade only falters when his gaze catches on the sword leaning against the iron bed frame. 

Utter delight shines in his eyes. He lifts the sword in both hands, the ruby pommel winking just as mockingly as he smiles. 

“The Sword of Gryffindor has once again made its way back to Sirius,” Dumbledore explains. “It appears your brother is a very brave young man.”

“Oh, he’s more than that,” Regulus Black declares. He lifts the sword in one hand as if to charge at an enemy, and says, “ _Flamma_.”

White and blue flames erupt along the blade. Thick shadows seem to coat the flames in a dark embrace. The scent of blood drifts strongly across the aisle, sending Madam Pomfrey’s conjured lights into a hysterical flicker. 

“ _Finite_.”

The fire is gouged out by a silent gust of wind. The shadows, however, seem to linger along with the scent of fire and blood. Madam Pomfrey shivers across Lucy. Neither of them are familiar with such dark magic. He can’t imagine what it must have been like for them to grow up with it, to have fought against its corruption as a child. 

“I’m surprised you remembered, big brother,” Regulus says, placing the sword back against the bed. Dumbledore immediately banishes it back to wherever it belongs.

“Ah, Severus!” Slughorn says, his heavy frame appearing around the lab door. “Come here, my boy. And bring that recipe Albus has.”

Severus Snape hesitates, his beady gaze darting from Lucy to Regulus. He doesn’t budge until Regulus nods the slightest bit. Only then does he jolt into action with surprisingly graceful movements. 

“What did you need my help with?” Regulus asks curiously. 

“Sirius needed to see you.”

Regulus turns on his heel and studies Andromeda with a blank expression. After a terrible moment, the two of them reach some silent accord. Ted lets out a breath of relief and turns his attention back to Sirius, vanishing the top layers of his clothing with a flick of his wand. Regulus eyes his brother’s wounds with an idle curiosity. 

“What is it you need from me?”

“Do you remember that time with Bella and the library?”

In response, Regulus rolls up his left sleeve. Ted’s heart stutters, half expecting him to reveal a Dark Mark. Instead, there are only thin red curse scars marring his pale skin. He smirks up at Ted in amusement, fully aware of what he had anticipated. Ted dips his head back to Sirius’s mottled flesh. 

“I kept hearing you scream,” Sirius says, oblivious to their exchange. “That magic, whatever it was, I didn’t realize how heavy the air was until I got back here.” 

“Surely that isn’t what happened to her,” Regulus says. Ted glances up in time to see his nose scrunch in distaste. “I’ll be ever so disappointed if all it took was a little ambiance to take down the legendary Lucille Tonks.”

“No. No, it wasn’t.”

“I’m assuming you want to keep the scars?” Ted interrupts. 

“Fuck yes I do. Girls dig scars.”

Everyone except Regulus rolls their eyes. He settles for arrogant disdain. 

“Must you be so plebeian?”

“ _Ferula_ _iuventa_.” Ted intones. Bright turquoise bandages spotted with dancing house elves wrap around most of Sirius’s arm. His face brightens a little with humor. “No point in wasting dittany then. It’ll be the chest next.”

“Ah, the enigmatic Edward Tonks,” Regulus drawls. He sprawls across Sirius’s feet, his head propped up on his fist and silver eyes alight with something Ted would rather not puzzle out. “I wondered if fate would ever bring us together.”

Ted purposefully ignores his wife’s piercing gaze as he replies, ”I’m not nearly interesting enough to be called enigmatic, but I am pleased to meet you. Sirius, don’t touch that.” He slaps Sirius’s hand away from the wound on his chest and kneels down to get a better look. “There’ll be no avoiding dittany on this one, I’m afraid. Andy, if you would.”

Ted casts the required charms, all too aware of the scrutiny as he works. 

“I disagree. Most of my esteemed peers would disagree. You were brave enough to steal the youngest, sanest Black sister out from under their noses and act like you did nothing wrong.”

“You say that like I ever had a choice in the matter. Andromeda always gets what she wants. I just happened to be lucky enough for her to want me.”

Regulus hums, his head tilted to the side in an eerie litany of Andromeda. He watches as she joins him with the dittany and helps apply it to Sirius’s chest. There is no doubt that he is analyzing every breath, every tick, every word. When they’re done, Sirius stretches out along the mattress until his little brother is forced to rearrange himself. Regulus looks just as artful as he did before. Andromeda is also blessed with the same inherent elegance. Lucy says it’s a pureblood thing, but Ted has to disagree. He’s met many a graceless pureblood. 

“Fate is a strange mistress. Funny that we’ve met at such a fortuitous time, is it not?” Regulus ponders. 

Andromeda crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I expect you’ll go home to find a school owl from yours truly.”

“Why would you bother to write to us?” 

“Dear cousin, I’m wounded! Can a man not-“

“No, men like you can not and do not.”

“My, my. I see it isn’t just that you look like dear Bella. You’re just as crass as she is too. I saw her not too long ago, you know.”

Professor Dumbledore doesn't bother to mask his intrigue. He ignores McGonnagal’s silent protests and edges closer to the hospital beds. 

“What do you want, Regulus?” Andromeda snarls. “My sister is dying this very second. I do not-“

Regulus scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s uncouth. Lucy isn’t going to die just yet. Dumbledore wants too much out of her for him to let her expire so easily.”

“Mr. Black! Lucille is-“

“We’re all very aware of what Lucille is, Headmaster. Tell me, brother. Who did she take the curse for tonight?”

Sirius is quiet for so long, Ted has to check to see if he’s fallen asleep. He’s only staring up at the ceiling, his handsome face uncharacteristically grim. 

“What would you do if someone used Kreacher to test a potion- a potion so terrible it made you try and off yourself- and left him to die while he was rolling around and crying on the floor?”

Regulus stares at his brother for a long moment. Ted glances at Andromeda, hoping she has some insight to what he’s thinking, but she’s just as leery and circumspect as everyone else. 

In the end, he only says, “I suppose I didn’t have a magical sword or a buxom blonde to come to my aid.”

“She thought you were an inferi. That’s when she poisoned herself.”

“Interesting,” he murmurs, rubbing his chin. “Why would I be the metaphor for her failures?”

“Couldn’t she just like you and not want to see you to die?”

“Pah! They’ve given you too strong a calming drought. Nothing in life is ever so simple. Besides, how did she manage to poison herself in the middle of an inferi attack?”

Dumbledore is the one to answer when no one else is able to. Ted can hardly bring himself to think it, let alone give it voice. 

“Muggle spies carry suicide pills in the event of their capture by enemy forces. Lucille has modified this practice so that she only need speak a key phrase and poison leaks from a false tooth.”

“She’s quite good at that,” Regulus says, his voice frighteningly proud. “Why, you should have seen the muggle torture she’s shown us! All hypothetical, I assure you, but informative nonetheless. Ingenious, really. I’m afraid you’ll have to replace that tooth, though. She might have need it of it very soon. It’s why I sent you a letter, you see. It would be for the best if you went into hiding. I have it on good authority the Dark Lord will be recruiting her over Yuletide and he’ll come for you all when she denies him.”

“No,” Ted whispers. “No. It can’t be.”

He collapses onto Sirius’s bed, his chest constricting painfully. Ted likes to think he’s a good father, but he can’t protect them from this. Not from You-Know-Who. He won’t be able to support them. There’s a nice little nest egg in Gringotts but there will be bills to pay and food and necessities to buy and God only knows how long the war will drag on. He should have saved more. He should have prepared better.

“I’ll take care of everything, of course,” Regulus is saying. It sounds as though he’s talking from very far away. “Sirius was meant to inherit a small fortune from poor Uncle Alphie- the dragon pox is about to do him in, poor man- but a few Yaxleys for the Gringotts dragons will take care of that easily enough. I would also caution you against using Lucy as secret keeper. It’s too obvious and if you replace that tooth-“

“Regulus,” Andromeda chokes out, “please shut up.”

Over the ringing in his ears, Ted can barely hear Sirius say, “Why? Why help them? What’s in it for you?”

“They have something I want.” Ted’s head snaps up to meet Regulus’s smirk. “And us Blacks always get what we want, don’t we Andromeda?”

The ringing fades to a buzz. Colors brighten, edges sharpen. Ted hasn’t felt like this since he last came face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange. It takes a lot to rile up a badger, but they’re deadly things when the need arises. 

“OH HO HO!” Slughorn’s voice booms from the lab. The door slams open and he waddles through with a steaming goblet in his hands and a disgruntled teen at his back. “OH HO HO! We’ve figured it out! It’ll be a long two weeks before she’s up and about but she'll-“

Slughorn pulls up short at the tense atmosphere, his eyes flitting from Ted's murderous scowl to Regulus's fierce grin.

“Did we miss something?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun juxtaposing Ted with Lucy here. His day is an utterly mundane stressed father, while Lucy’s morning began with the war leaking into the Defense class. He and Andromeda gaze up at their white ceiling, compared to the black and green one in the cave. The cave’s suffocating darkness and their bedroom’s calming one. Again, would have been easier to spot if I didn’t have to split up the chapters. I didn't mean for this to be long. I tried to cut it down, but apparently Ted had a lot to say. 
> 
> Also, did anyone notice Regulus with the “she totally tortured somebody” and then scares them half to death with Voldemort to distract them from what she did. It made me lol and sad that Lucy wasn’t awake to appreciate it. 
> 
> Next up: A Christmas party at the Malfoys


	10. The Power He Knows Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: ANIMAL DEATH NEAR THE END.(ANIMALS BEING USED AS TEST SUBJECTS FOR DARK SPELLS AND POISONS). MENTION OF SUICIDE AND LYING ABOUT IT AT THE BEGINNING.
> 
> You might expect the hardest part about writing to be the big dramatic scenes, but I’ve always found those the easiest. It’s connecting those scenes that are so difficult for me. I’ve been sitting on the second half of this chapter for a week, but I had to transition it with the last chapter and let me tell you, it was super hard. I hope it turned out well.

Lucy wakes to an uncomfortable Severus Snape blinking down at a miniature version of himself. It’s too bizarre to be anything other than a dream, so she succumbs to the heavy exhaustion weighing on her limbs.

The next time she comes around, the room is bathed in warm candlelight and the rim of a glass is at her lips. Instantly, there is Sirius’s leg warm and hard against her cheek, his hand cupped around the back of her neck, thick sludge crawling down her throat. She jolts upright. A rush of cold power explodes from her skin. A woman clad in a crisp apron braces herself the wave of magic.

“Miss Tonks! Lucille, it's only me, Madame Pomfrey.” Slowly, though not fearfully, she returns to hover at Lucy’s side. “It's been five days since Sirius Black brought you to me. You’ll be glad to hear that both he and your house elf are perfectly well, but if you wish to join them anytime soon, you’ll have to drink this potion.”

Lucy suddenly realizes the goblet in her hands is steaming. Only the most effective potions have such visceral qualities and Madam Pomfrey is a sworn healer. They have their own strict set of magical vows to abide by. Lucy nods, relaxing so that it is easier to swallow. The steaming goblet tastes like grass and vomit. The next potion seems to swirl down her throat. The last could be water if didn’t prickle her tongue so terribly.

“I do so love Slytherins,” Someone says as her eyes droop closed. “You always make the easiest patients.”

* * *

  
Lucy spends the next two days in and out of consciousness. On the third morning, Madam Pomfrey makes her walk around the room. She does well enough to be permitted a hot shower. It’s slow going and nauseating, but it works better than any magic could. They return to find Severus Snape waiting in the bedside chair. Madam Pomfrey helps her back into bed and leaves with a curt warning about noise and exhaustion levels. 

Lucy and Severus do nothing except stare at one another for several moments. His beady black eyes cutting into Lucy's skin as he surveys her pallid cheeks and cracked lips.

"Congratulations," he finally says. "You're not dead." 

"All thanks to you, according to Madam Pomfrey."

He casts an absentminded _muffliato_.

"The Dark Lord would have been most displeased."

"Still, thank you. Really."

As he relaxes back into his seat, she thinks back on their earlier years. Neither of them were very affectionate or verbose, but they were the outcasts, the sort of strange people that Regulus or Voldemort would eventually collect. They would never truly find a home at Hogwarts, so they tried to find some semblance of amity in each other. It helped that Severus, even at thirteen, was more clever than most grown adults. He drifted from her when he joined the Death Eaters of course, ever eager to please and belong. She never begrudged him that. She knows who he really is.

"When you commissioned that poison, I did not realize you intended to use it on yourself,” he says.

Lucy summons a glass of water and sips it as she chooses which direction to steer the conversation.

"Would you have made it for me if you knew?"

"No. There are gentler poisons."

"But they don't have antidotes."

"No, they do not. Did you brew the antivenin yourself?"

"Yes."

His bland expression finally drops into a scowl. "Why?! Using the same specimen when brewing inverses makes for a much more effective result! I know you know this!"

"It would have made you too curious and if you were going to brew either, I'd rather it be the more important one."

Severus sighs and reaches into his robes. A delicate gold chain with a pale crystal pendant dangles from his spidery hand. "Here, you foolish witch. I replaced the fake molar and the poison. This is the antidote, made from the _same frog_. Be more careful with your life. I can't save it every time you run into a dementor."

Lucy meets his eyes, a slow smile pulling at her lips. So that’s the story they’re going with then. This has Andromeda written all over it.

"Nasty little buggers, those dementors,” she says.

"Yes, well, I didn't just stop by to give you the means to try and kill yourself again. Brown's brother tipped her off this morning. Aurors are on their way to question you and Regulus is-"

"Dear God, no. Please, no. I can't deal with him dealing with them right now."

"I was going to say he's unavailable," he says, lips twitching as he looks down at his watch. "We've got ten minutes. I can step outside if you want to get dressed."

Lucy sighs heavily. There truly is no rest for the wicked.

"No, but would you mind transfiguring a mirror?"

He vanishes three empty potion vials from a metal tray before tapping it with his wand. It smooths out into a mirror that he levitates so that it hovers just in front of her face. Lucy blanches at her reflection. Her eyes are sunken and ringed with purple bags, her lips are cracked and tinted blue, and her wet hair hangs limp around her shoulders.

"I look like an inferi."

"Use it."

Lucy beams up at him. There are times when she is genuinely saddened that she is not around more of her housemates. No one can understand a Slytherin like a Slytherin. No one else has the instinct to twist the smallest things to one's advantage. No one else can understand the visceral pleasure of a successful manipulation.

She begins with a purposefully half-assed drying charm that leaves her hair frizzy and lank. Next, she pulls her hospital gown down over one shoulder, exposing the graceful curve of her neck and her sharp collarbone. To finish it off, she charms the dreadful garment the most unflattering shade of pale yellow that washes out her already pallid complexion. Severus watches it all with fond amusement.

“How do I...” she trails off at the sudden voices.

“Lie back,” Snape hisses, already reverting the mirror back into a tray.

At least three men and one woman. Heavy boots scuffing against the stone. Aurors, then. She can’t decide if that’s better or worse. On one hand, she might get lucky with a bunch of James Potters. On the other, she might be interrogated by a bunch of Mad-Eye Moodys.

“This is an infirmary!” Madame Pomfrey cries. “My patient is very unwell! As her careg-“

“This can’t wait, Matron,” the woman says, frighteningly close.

Severus scrambles to cancel the eavesdropping charm.

“It very well can!”

Her protests are all for naught. The bed curtain flies back violently. Lucy takes several beats to pretend to acclimate to the bright sunlight. She imagines them as large silhouettes slowly turning into red-robed people. At the foot of her bed, there is a grey haired witch, a tall black wizard, a man with a mop of blonde curls, and none other than Alastor Moody, mad eye and all.

Lucy bites back a curse. She is so fucked.

“Merlin’s beard,” the witch breathes. She pushes her glasses up her thin nose. “You look like an inferi.”

Lucy stares back coldly.

“Auror Norah Byrne,” the witch says with inappropriate cheer. “This is-“

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, Michael Brown, and Alastor Moody,” Lucy finishes. “What do you want.”

Moody stomps forward to glower at her with both eyes. He still has all of his nose and both legs, but he’s already scarred to the high heavens and has the damn eye. He won’t have the patience to deal with an obstinate teenage witch. She might be able to bait him into storming off or more likely, giving her a few scars of her own. 

“We’re here to question you about the night of November eighteenth,” he snarls.

“Shouldn’t a professor be present?” She asks, gaze darting from auror to auror.

“You’re of age,” Moody tells her without an ounce of sympathy.

“Well can’t it wait until I’m feeling better? Today is the first day I-“

“I’m afraid not, Miss Tonks,” Byrne cuts in with a kind smile.

”Why are there so many of you?” She demands. “Surely I don’t merit four aurors.”

Moody grumbles something under his breath, but Kingsley Shacklebolt steps forward. He’s very tall, broad shouldered, and has a deep voice that adds to his allure.

“How versed are you in Ministry politics?” He asks.

“Well enough to know there’s about to be an election in the middle of a civil war. Which one are you here for?”

The aurors-bar Moody, who keeps scowling at the two students suspiciously- share a silent conversation. Michael Brown is the one who answers. He’s recognizable from some of the photos Violet has shared and their unmistakeable blond curls. Like Lucy, Violet was half raised by her older brother. After their father died of a bad case of wizard flu, Michael took her in just as she was starting Hogwarts. He was a Gryffindor, like most Browns, but never judged his sister for her sorting.

Brown shakes Lucy’s hand with a firm, warm grip.

“Hello, Lucy. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard all about you from Violet.”

Before she can reply, he leans over her lap to offer his hand to Severus. Severus is hesitant to return the unexpected gesture, but plays along as expected.

“And you, Severus Snape. Vi talks about you often as well.”

“I doubt that.”

Moody makes an odd sort of snort-scoff sound.

“No, really!” Brown protests excitedly. “She says she’s never met a mind as sharp as yours. Says you’re the brightest wizard of your age.”

“That title is usually reserved for Lucy.”

“Ah, but Lucille’s skills are not as holistic as your own, Mr. Snape.”

Everyone, even Moody, startles at Dumbledore’s sudden presence. The headmaster stands behind their esteemed guests, radiating pride in his chicanery and ridiculous robes. Today he’s chosen to dress in black silk with pinstripes that flash every color imaginable and some that aren’t. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of candy.

“Strawberry Bon-Bon, anyone?” He asks.

“ _What_?”

“Pardon?”

“What are you going on about now, Albus?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“ALBUS!” Moody roars. He whirls on the headmaster, his eye spinning madly in its socket. “I’ve better things to do with my day and I won’t let you hold me up with any of your rubbish!”

Dumbledore pulls himself up to his impressive height and presses his lips into a firm line. “Forgive me, old friend, if I do not consider a ministry interrogation of one of my students rubbish.”

“It’s only standard protocol, Professor,” Kingsley Shacklebolt assuages.

“Under which minister, I wonder?”

Comprehension dawns on Lucy. “Ah, I see now. Two of you are here for Minister Minchum and the other pair is here for his opponent. Based on Auror Moody’s...forwardness, I can deduce that he supports Bagnold, which leaves Miss Byrne in favor of the current minister.”

“‘In favor’ is strong choice of words,” Byrne says drily.

Moody grunts.

“So now you’re both scurrying around, trying to score a win before the other party, and I’m the latest lead you’ve got to go on,” Lucy surmises.

“Very clever, Miss Tonks,” Dumbledore applauds. “Five points to Slytherin.”

“Well, I hate to break it you, but I don’t have anything to tell you. There were dementors, they made me sad, and I tried to kill myself. There’s really nothing else for me to say.”

“Mr. Black exhibited signs of an inferi attack,” Shacklebolt points out.

Severus snorts. “And I’m sure he boasted of charging into them with a flaming Sword of Gryffindor,” he drawls.

Moody and Byrne both shrug, to Brown’s bewilderment. Neither of them are spring chickens; they’ve probably encountered far more fantastical things during their tenure.

“I’d like to focus on what happened with the dementors if that’s alright with you,” Byrne suggests. Her cheerful demeanor softens into a motherly mien. It’s masterfully done. Relaxed shoulders, close-lipped smile, crinkled eyes. “It’s awfully rare for dementors to affect someone to such an extent.”

“No, they just suck out-“

Moody stomps closer and crosses his arms. His electric blue eye catches on the new necklace under her hospital gown as he shoves his weathered face in front of her pale one.

“Cut the shit,” he growls. “You poisoned yourself with an illegal potion brewed with a rare frog from South America that you shouldn’t be able to afford. How the bloody hell did you have it on your person?”

Lucy narrows her eyes.

“They’re going to kill me slow and I’d rather die quickly.”

“Then why carry the antidote?”

“In case my escape plans work.”

Moody straightens abruptly with his arms still crossed.

“Escape plans?”

“I have escape plans for my escape plans.”

“Seems awfully paranoid.”

“Constant vigilance,” she coos.

The magical eye whirls to a stop, pinning her into the bed.

“Merlin’s beard,” Brown whispers in awe. “There’s two of them.”

“You never answered the question. I asked how, now why.”

Lucy scrunches her nose. “Does that really matter?”

“Yes,” he says bluntly. “We’re not going to get anything useful out of you and I don’t want this to be a wasted trip.”

“Alastor,” Byrne groans.

“It’s the truth. I reckon Black killed whoever really attacked them that night and they’re covering it up.” He spits on the floor. “Good riddance.”

Lucy, for whatever reason, is affronted that Sirius is the killer in this scenario. She’s not stupid enough to let it show, however. Slytherins are opportunists and Lucy is supposedly the most Slytherin of them all. She fixes Moody with a black glower. It isn’t difficult to feed into the lie. If Sirius really had killed someone, she would most certainly have covered it up. There are three pages in her journal dedicated to eradicating bodies.

“Jesus Christ, Alastor,” Auror Byrne sighs. “You can’t spit in a hospital wing. It’s unsanitary.”

The scolding sets off a quarrel amongst the aurors. Lucy settles back into her pillows with weariness. She really does feel like shit and a cacophony of petty insults isn’t helping matters. Severus shoots her a dark look that says, ‘You owe me more for suffering through this than for saving your life’.

“Any good reading, Miss Tonks?” Dumbledore inquires amicably.

Lucy nods at the nightstand to her left. She’d looked them over last night while waiting for her sleeping draught to kick in.

“Severus brought me the academic journals, but they’re mostly potions. I think Lupin or Evans told Sirius to give me that book on runes. Those fashion magazines are definitely from Violet and I think those novels are too. Or they might be from Regulus. It seems like something he would do.”

Severus furrows his brows as he reads the glimmering text on the spines. His face contorts into a deeper horror with each title he reads.

“The Amorous Acromantula. Liaison with a Lethifold. _Naked with a Nundu_?!”

Lucy’s heart soars with affection. She’s missed reveling in his scandalized terror. Her favorite instance was the time she tried to incorporate a beauty charm into his curse during fourth year. She was quite pleased with the results but he had cursed her with a cursing curse that lasted three days.

“Oh!” Dumbledore exclaims. “I’ve read most of this series. There was one about a Horned Serpent that reminded me of a time in Paris with-“

They are rescued by none other then Kingsley Shacklebolt, who is shaping up to be man of many merits. He leans in just as Moody’s yells triple in volume.

“She’ll be storming off any second, Professor,” he murmurs, sparing Lucy and Severus a wink.

Dumbledore nods almost imperceptibly. How the old bat wasn’t sorted into Slytherin is beyond her sometimes. His talent for deception and manipulation is remarkable. It’s no wonder Voldemort fears and despises him in equal terror. He is a shade of what Tom Riddle could have become. Powerful, intelligent, ambitious. Voldemort’s madness and lust for violence prevented his ascension as the next Merlin. He could have been beyond great.

Sure enough, Auror Byrne loses her temper moments later. She turns on her heel and leaves in a swirl of red robes. Michael Brown lingers long enough to shake their hands again and give them heartfelt goodbyes. As soon as he disappears around the corner, Madam Pomfrey pops up out of nowhere.

“Out!” She orders, herding the men through the curtains. “Everyone out! You too, Mr. Snape. Lucille needs rest, not conversation. You may visit her later tonight.”

Lucy strikes before her friend can obey. She catches his wrist in a tight grip, imploring him to meet her eyes. When the gentle probes of Legilimency brush at her mind, she brings the crippling gratitude to the foreground of her mindscape. He may be here on behalf of Regulus, and perhaps the Dark Lord, but she is infinitely grateful for his companionship nonetheless.

Severus has never been one for sentiment, yet when he jerks his arm away his fingers brush against the tips of her own. It’s enough for Lucy. She falls asleep daydreaming of the two of them old and grey and sharing snarky comments over a hot cup of tea.  
  


* * *

  
Lucy wakes to Ted nicking a box of Bertie’s Beans from her pile of gifted sweets. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until her shoulders begin to shake and he turns around to clutch her to his chest. He rocks with her, brushing her hair back and whispering nonsense. It all comes flooding out: Dumbledore’s mercurialness, her reunion with Severus, Violet’s unexpected assistance, Sirius in the cave, Coco, the draught, the horcruxes.

Dying.

She never allows herself to think about her death. It’s too tempting. After the initial horrible, maddening pain, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. No light, no dark, no fear, no happiness. There was only the sweet bliss of nothing.

It would be so easy to give it all all up, to say goodbye and slip back into that nirvana.

The thought brings about another violent sob.

“There, there, Lu. There, there. Let it all out.”

When she’s finally cried herself sick, Ted wipes her tears off with an embroidered handkerchief. She tugs it from his hand, marveling at the silk vines charmed to twine around his initials in perpetuity.

“Your wife is so posh,” she accuses. 

“She’s pretty enough to make up for it.”

Lucy snorts, then curses as it sends her into a coughing fit.

“Nice.”

“Shut up,” she snaps, reaching up wipe the dirty handkerchief on his face. He curses and shoves her out of his lap so he can retreat back to his chair.

“Where is Andy, anyway?”

Ted scowls as he wipes at his cheek. “She thought she’d give us some bonding time.”

“Lame. I was hoping she’d bring by some of her minestrone.”

“You’ve got a castle full of house elves to make you all the soup you could need.”

“Yeah but it’s not the same.”

Ted huffs and collapses back into the cushioned seat. He eyes her critically, evidently going into healer mode. Lucy is well acquainted with this version of her brother. He slips into it every time he picks her up from the Express. 

“You’re looking better.”

“I feel better, physically. It’s just....”

“Just what?”

“I’m just so tired,” she sighs, slamming back against the raised bed and staring at the tall, arched ceiling. It’s been seven years and she’s still not used to living in a castle.

“Tell me something. Maybe I can help you think it out.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Even the aurors? Everyone knows they came here.”

“No, but...” She turns to face her brother again. Really, they could be mistaken for twins if it weren’t for the age difference. “Dumbledore was behind it all.”

Ted manages to fight back an exasperated sigh and she loves him all the more for it.

“How do you figure that?” He asks. 

“It happened right in front of us. Ask Severus if you don’t believe me. Shacklebolt didn’t even bother to hide it. Dumbledore put him and Moody up to manipulating the others into leaving me alone.”

Ted frowns, his thick blond brows furrowing together. “What’s so bad about that?”

“Dumbledore hates me! He said it himself not a month ago!”

“Well....you’re still his student and he takes his role as headmaster very seriously. There are plenty of people I don’t like that I’ve had to treat s, but it’s the right thing to do so I take a deep breath and carry on. I imagine it’s something similar with him.”

Lucy chews on her lip. It might be true, but she doubts he would have defended Tom Riddle from anyone and the two of them have always been synonymous in Dumbledore’s eyes.

“I think he said something about choosing between what is right and what is easy once,” she allows.

They are quiet for some time. Lucy turns her thoughts over like a tarot reading, each one revealed in concordance with the last. Secrets and revelations are etched into the face of each card, holding a thousand answers and none.

“There’s Violet, too,” she muses. “Why would her brother tip her off? Why would she tell Regulus?”

“Maybe she just likes you,” Ted asks, an unreadable tenor to his voice.

“Don’t be daft,” she scoffs. “The world doesn’t work like that. Life is never so simple.”

Ted makes an odd sort on laughing noise. She looks at him questioningly, but he ignores her completely. She makes a mental note to ask Andy about it later.

“Well, I’m always hearing about how opportunist Slytherins are. Accept the kindness and face the consequences when they come. One thing at a time, Lucy. One thing at a time. But Lucy?”

“Hmm?”

“Why would Regulus help you? Don’t you think he might want something in return eventually?”

Lucy hesitates before admitting ,“With most people, yes.”

“But not with you?”

They’ve never brought up what he assumes she is. He can pretend his baby sister is safe and happy as long as the words are never spoken aloud. She’s let him have that small ignorance. It’s not as if she’s really a seer, after all.

“He knows what I am,” she tells him.

Ted stiffens. His cheeks pale above his honey-colored stubble and his bright blue eyes go wide.

“You told him?” He whispers hoarsely. “You told Regulus Black?”

“Sirius let it slip, not me. Regulus and Dumbledore were in the room when something happened and Sirius threw a fit like he always does.”

“Christ, Lucy.”

“It wasn’t my fault! And he took an unbreakable vow, so he can’t tell anyone.”

“It’s bad enough that he knows it!”

“Why are you-...” Lucy tilts her head to the side. “Did you meet him?”

“Sirius wanted to see him that night. I think he needed to see that he was safe.”

She nods almost absentmindedly. She might have done the same in Sirius’s situation. “What did you think of him?”

“I hate the little shit.”

Lucy’s lips twitch but she presses them together in a firm line. He catches her mirth anyway and scowls. It fades into exhaustion quick enough.

“He’s a pompous, cocky, handsome little shit, but I owe him.”

“Why?”

“Well, that Snape boy didn’t so much as move a muscle to help you until Regulus nodded at him. And then he warned us about something.”

“About what?”

Ted meets her curious gaze with sad eyes. “He’s coming for you, Luce.”

Lucy thought her heart might stop or her stomach might flip inside out. She thought she would be terrified or enraged, but she doesn’t feel any of that. Instead, it’s almost a relief to have it over and done with, a relief to know her family will soon be safe.

“We’re going under the Fidelus. We were going to tell you together, but...”

“It’s okay,” Lucy says.

Ted nods miserably. “Andy’s found a flat for you in London. She and Coco are working on the furnishings. We figured you’d want to add your own protections so they’ve just got the basics on it now.”

It’s not worth mentioning that she already has a hideout in London and another in Glasgow. Anything Andy picks out will be exponentially more welcoming than a safe house.

“But really, Lucy, watch yourself around Regulus. I don’t like him one bit. The things he said. Can you believe he threatened to feed that Yaxley boy to a Gringotts dragon?”

Lucy’s brain comes to a screeching halt. She turns to her brother like a wolf on a scent.

“What do you mean?” She demands.

“I dunno. Said something about giving the goblins dragon food in return for a favor.”

“Was he serious?”

“I dunno. I couldn’t tell with him.”

“Did Andy think he was serious?”

“Well we didn’t talk about it, did we? We’ve been too busy worrying over you and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

If Regulus has that sort of clout with Gringotts, he could be instrumental in retrieving Hufflepuff’s Cup. Truthfully, even if he doesn’t, he’s closer to the Lestranges than Lucy has any hope of ever being. He’d only need to pocket a couple strands of hair. Blood would be better really, but that’s asking too much. Well. In most cases it would be. The Lestranges are so insane they probably spill each other’s blood on a daily basis.

“Luce, I don’t that face.”

Lucy flashes a blinding smile that makes his lip curl.

“I don’t like that one either, but I suppose I’d better look at it while I can.”

She reaches over to hold his hand, squeezing it tight.

“Will I even get to see you for the holidays?” She wonders.

“Not Nymph,” he says apologetically, “but Andy and I will be at the Longbottom’s Yule Party on the twenty-fourth. We’ll be safe enough with Dumbledore in attendance.”

“Eugh. Will you really make me spend Christmas with a bunch of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors?”

“Better than with the Malfoy’s, I suspect. Their party is only a couple of days before.”

Lucy’s hand falls from his. She raises herself up and peers at her brother intently. “They’re having a party? At their manor?”

“Yes. Lucy...I really, really don’t like that face.”

Lucy doesn’t pay him a bit of attention. She summons her leather bagand extracts her journal, flipping through to the section she needs. Ted takes one look at it and pales. ‘Malfoy Manor’ is scrawled at the top in a messy feminine hand.

“You best leave, big brother. The less you know, the better.”

Ted opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. He kisses his sister on the crown of her head, making sure not to look at the diary in her lap. She hardly notices him leave.   
  


* * *

Occasionally, Lucy finds herself wondering if she’s being a little too paranoid. There’s constant vigilance and then there’s renting a flat in the worst part of Manchester, warding it to the high heavens, only ever leaving in it disguise, and confunding every person and animal that makes eye contact. Normal people don’t go to such lengths. Sirius would have just used his own place and damn the consequences. Inversely, Mad-Eye Moody would probably take even more precautions than Lucy has, but she can’t think of what they might have been. Dumbledore and Regulus wouldn’t have to worry about it. Grimmauld Place is almost impenetrable to anyone that isn’t a Black and Dumbledore is Dumbledore. Lucy isn’t either of those things, so she has to work with what she has: paranoia and cunning.

Gawain Yaxley, the poor fool, isn’t nearly paranoid enough. He’s never had reason to be. There are very few spells that require more than a couple of drops of blood and Lucy still has three vials of his. She also has his fingernail trimmings, his hair, his saliva, and his tears. A bit overboard maybe, but she likes to be prepared. Besides, it’s always better to experiment with old magic on someone inconsequential.

She keeps track of him with blood, a map, and a house elf. The Yaxley estate appears to be just north of Exeter. Lucy figures he must have been somewhat punished for the chaos he caused in November, because he never leaves his ancestral home except for Diagon Alley. Coco reports that he takes lessons at an apothecary on Wednesday mornings and visits a posh gentlemen’s club on Friday evenings. The Malfoy’s party is on Saturday the twenty-second so Lucy strikes that Friday night. She waits until he stumbles out of the wizarding parlor, casts her very first _imperio_ , and side-alongs him directly into the shabby living room.

From there it’s quick work. Still under the imperius, Yaxley calls for his house elf in the hall. He gives a message to pass on to his parents and demands that his dress robes are brought to him. As soon as they’re delivered, he comes inside and drinks a foul potion that has him crumbling to the peeling linoleum floor in a tangled heap.

Lucy wrinkles her nose and glances at Coco. “I kinda want to leave him there.”

“He’s a be escaping easily this way, Miss Lucy.”

“I know. He just looks so uncomfortable.”

“I’s can make him the same in the circle.”

Lucy sighs. “No, best to get it over with.”

She and Coco work together to levitate him into the tiny bedroom. In lieu of a bed, there’s the same old, intricate ritual circle she used in the Slytherin common room. This time it’s on the floor and she charms him to stay on his back. It’s unlikely he did any research into escaping it, but she can’t take any chances. This is too important.

Lucy showers after- the Imperio left her feeling grimy- and downs a light sleeping potion. There’s no way she could sleep without it and she needs her wits about her. Sirius can’t help her with this one. She’s going into enemy territory alone.   


* * *

  
Gawain Yaxley arrives at Malfoy Manor at six o’clock sharp. His brown hair is carefully combed behind his ears and his embroidered robes are immaculately pressed, but his shoulders are slumped and his hazel eyes flick around the crowded grounds nervously. He was never the most confident of wizards. Here in the presence of Death Eaters and ministry officials, he knows better than to draw attention to himself after his disastrous semester. His uncle seems to agree. Corban Yaxley grips his nephew by the bicep and shoves him up the gravel walkway.

“I’ll kill you myself if you embarrass this family tonight,” he hisses. “You seem to forget that my own children are just as capable as carrying on the family line as you.”

Lucy makes herself gulp. It isn’t difficult; she’s terrified. So many things could go wrong. As clever as she is, it’s difficult to stay in character. The walk alone is torture. It’s tricky to walk like she has a broom shoved up her ass while trying to acclimate to new organs dangling between her legs. That’s to say nothing of her long limbs and flat chest.

“Yes, Uncle,” she intones.

“This never would have happened if your father had put your mother in her place and sent you to Durmstrang with your cousins.”

”Now, now, Yaxley,” a smooth voice drawls.

They turn to see Lucius Malfoy striding towards them. His silver robes manage to complement both his looks and the glittering Yule decorations perfectly. Unbidden pleasure takes over Lucy. It would have been glorious to rile him up in his own home looking like that. He’s always despised her so vehemently.

“It is essential to uphold tradition,” Malfoy says, “and despite its recent... _decline_ , Hogwarts is a British tradition. We must be patient. It will only a matter of time before we are returned to our former glory.”

Lucy and Yaxley bow their heads in greeting. No matter how far back they can trace their ancestry, no matter how many muggles they maim and torture, a Yaxley will never be equal to a Malfoy. It would take generations of diligence and prudence to accrue that sort of wealth.

“A wise sentiment, Lucius,” Yaxley allows.

Lucius cuts his grey eyes over Lucy’s tall, slender frame. “Yes. Wisdom. Something your family could do with more of.”

He leaves in a swish of glimmering robes. She watches him stalk off with hidden admiration. No one can do pompous sass quite like Lucius Malfoy. He does the most pretentious things and somehow still remains the most threatening man in the room.

“Get out of my sight,” Yaxley mutters.

Lucy tears her gaze away from their host’s retreating frame to find her new uncle baring his teeth. She stares at him for a moment, wondering if she should be afraid or if Gawain would be too proud to admit it. She settles on turning on her heel and stomping up the marble stairs into Malfoy Manor.

Light and music and laughter assault her senses as she crosses the threshold. Hundreds of witches and wizards are mingling in ostentatious robes and gowns, the bright golden light reflecting off their colorful attire. Lucy allows herself a moment of pure delight as she winds through the packed rooms. There are hairstyles that defy gravity, dresses that change color, and decorations that give Yuletide greetings. It’s all so magical. She’s grown so accustomed to combat spells and explosive runes that simple things like dancing tinsel and caroling mistletoe have her captivated.

“Narcissa has outdone herself this year.”

Khadijah Shafiq appears at Lucy’s side dressed in a golden hijab and a flowing gown with tight beaded sleeves. She slips her right arm around Lucy’s left and peers up through her thick eyelashes.

“Be my first dance?” She coos.

Lucy carefully disentangles herself with as much grace as she can muster, trying to ignore the foul taste on her tongue. If she were Shafiq, she’d be begging her father for a marriage contract with one of his Egyptian business partners far away from the war. Instead, she seems content to stay in England and marry a sycophantic terrorist. At least Bellatrix had the gall to join her husband in his sick predilections.

“Uncle Corban’s forbidden me from partaking in any sort of pleasure, I’m afraid,” Lucy grimaces.

Shafiq’s round lips pull into a pout. “Is this about the mudbloods?”

“It’s more about getting caught.”

“Very well,” she sighs, “just don’t give my kisses away to other witches, Gawain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lucy says with complete sincerity.

The next hour passes excruciatingly slow. Pretending to be Yaxley is difficult. The devil is in the details and the only thing she truly knows about Gawain Yaxley is that he’s a moronic prick. She strolls around with a glass of wine, offering polite salutations to anyone she thinks he might consider worth acknowledging. As the hour drags on, it becomes more and more difficult to stay in character. The bigotry is even more pronounced when the elite are amongst themselves. There are no condescending grins or haughty sniffs when she speaks. None of the bastards are sincere of course, but they aren’t disdainful or disgusted by her presence.

Eventually, there is a call for the dancing to begin. As the bulk of the crowd drifts to the ballroom, Lucy slips further down a brightly lit hall. She can’t help but admire the architecture and design. It’s a tasteful amalgamation of French influence and British tradition. Distantly, she wonders if their family magic is similar. The Blacks were the first wizarding family in London, founded by a Roman wizard and a female druid. It’s why their magic is so dark. They call on the old forgotten things that were used before wands and latin were brought by the Romans.

She casts her thoughts aside with a shake of her head. This is not the time to ruminate on magical theory and history. Sirius would hex her back to the future if he found out.

The Malfoy library is massive. Pale wooden bookshelves fill a room slightly larger than the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Tables and sofas and glass cases are littered throughout. A quick spell reveals that it is empty other than the cluster of old men drinking near the entrance. Lucy nods in greeting before she disappears into the stacks.

She goes deeper and deeper, striding through the aisles until magic begins to brush at her skin. Books dance on their shelves and whisper secrets into her ear. Further on, the whispers turn to hisses, the gentle touches turn into passionate caresses. The shelves become darker and more worn, chips and scratches and burns contrasting with the polished wood.

Finally, she reaches the outermost corner of the room. Dark magic dances in the air, calling on her fear, her anger, her loneliness, her greed. Lucy hones in on the last one. That is what the Diadem used to lure her in. After that calamity, she made sure to immediately place the horcruxes in the boxes. It isn’t a longing for wealth or power that calls to her. It’s knowledge, something that Voldemort has an abundance of. He has explored the world and unearthed magics that Lucy could never dream of existing. He could teach her everything she could ever need to keep her family safe. He taught Bellatrix. Who’s to say he wouldn’t take Lucy under his wing? He would never hold her birth against her, he tried to recruit Lily after all. He would only hone her mind into-...

“Right,” Lucy snaps. “That’s enough of that, thank you.”

She steps around the heavy oak desk and pulls a small black book off the shelf. It takes a moment to retrieve the replica from her expanded pocket, but she manages to place it just as a familiar voice drawls, “Blonde suits you better.”

Her first thought is that he looks infuriatingly handsome. Regulus is dressed in deep indigo robes that bring out the blue in his eyes. Unlike the others, the only accessory he’s bothered with is the massive sapphire ring he always wears on his left hand. His dark hair falls in waves to chin, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and his full lips.

Lucy forces herself to stop ogling and turns her back to him, hastily rummaging around for the runed box in her trouser pocket.

“Fuck off, Black,” she snarls in Yaxley’s haughty tones.

But Regulus is already standing beside her, leaning against the bookcase as if nothing is amiss. She halts in her ministrations to glare at him. It’s disconcerting to not have to bend her neck to manage it.

”I much prefer it when you call me Regulus. You’re the only one with the balls to do it. Pun intended.”

Lucy scrunches up her face in a very not-Gawain way. There’s no point in denying it, not with him. He's just as obstinate as she is.

“Was that necessary?” She asks.

“Yes,” he says, unrepentant. His gaze sweeps over her borrowed body. “How is it changing genders?”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Strange. I didn’t realize how much power I have over men until now. I mean, I knew but I didn’t _know_.”

“Merlin save the fool you test that out on.”

She searches for a sign of sarcasm or mockery, but she can only make out amusement and sincerity in his features. His emotions have always been nearly impossible to discern. They are limited to a quirk of a brow, the twitch of a lip, the twist of a ring. Sirius is the complete opposite. He is ruled by his emotions and doesn’t bother to hide them. 

Lucy narrows her eyes and turns to rest her shoulder against the shelf. “And what if I tested it out on you?”

“You won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He leans in, his breath ghosting against her lips. “Because you aren’t ready for me.”

Lucy opens her mouth to respond, but her own breath is stolen from her lungs. Power crests through the stacks, slamming into her with the force of a tidal wave. It is the most glorious thing she has ever felt. It is the wind on a winter’s night, sharp and cold and unrelenting and wild.

“Shit,” Regulus hisses, the color rapidly fading from his cheeks. “Shit!”

Lucy shoves the diary deep in his robe pocket just as several people round the corner. The three old men from earlier congregate on one side. Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, and a woman who can only be Bellatrix Lestrange mirror them on the right. In the center, Corban Yaxley stands beside the most attractive man Lucy has ever laid eyes on. It isn’t just his thick hair or square jaw. It’s the intelligent gleam in his eyes and the magic billowing around him.

Voldemort waves his wand to vanish the furniture, his scarlet gaze never leaving Lucy. She slams the shields of her mind down with a force strong enough for her ears to ring. They move almost as one, crossing the space to study one another. This close, she can feel his cold magic prickling in the air. She wants nothing more than to vomit. Her stomach is in a perpetual state of nausea, but this is like seeing the basilisk again. The sheer vastness of his power is almost too much for her to comprehend. 

The infamous yew wand raises and she flinches despite the slow, unthreatening speed. A spell wraps itself around her shoulders, poking and prodding for a way in, but it recedes before it finds purchase. His plush lips pull back in a savage grin.

“You do not disappoint, Lucille Tonks.”

“Nor do you, Lord Voldemort.”

He turns his attention to Regulus, who is still lingering beside the shelf. She realizes, with a start, that they almost look similar. Both of them are dressed in plain, dark clothes and a single ring. They’re the sort of men that do not need ornamentation to catch attention. Yet despite Regulus's easy confidence and proud stature, he bows easily. Unashamedly.

“It is an honor to meet you once more, my lord,” he says.

“And you, Regulus,” Voldemort returns. He glances between them curiously. “You were not surprised to learn of Miss Tonk’s identity.”

“I was not, my lord. I knew it wasn’t Yaxley as soon as she stepped into the Manor.”

“How?!” Corban Yaxley bites out. His graying hair has escaped its velvet ribbon and his neck is red with fury.

Regulus tries to shoot Lucy a taunting smirk but it comes across as a cringe in his anxious state.

“Gawain Yaxley‘s wouldn’t be ogling the beading on Shafiq’s gown, if you catch my meaning," he explains.

“It’s a nice gown,” she says. 

One of the older men chuckles. She chances a peek to find them amused and more intrigued than any of their ilk should ever be by a muggleborn. Lucy shifts away from them the slightest bit. The Dark Lord, of course, does not miss the exchange. In fact, he seems delighted by it.

“Can you guess who these men are, Lucille Tonks?”

"I'm assuming they're your OG Death Eaters, my lord." Everyone turns to stare at her in bewilderment. She curses herself for her stupidity. Even if that term exists in this decade, its probably only in America. "Muggle saying. Means 'original gangster'."

Bellatrix starts screeching something ridiculous, but Voldemort raises his hand to silence her.

"Is that how you perceive us, Lucille Tonks?" He asks.

"Uh, no. Definitely not. I only meant- it's an anaphora of sorts. And it can actually be meant as a sign of respect." 

An elderly wizard with dead eyes and gold embroidery on his robes steps forward.

"And do you mean it as a sign of respect?"

Lucy furrows her brows in confusion. She glances from him to Voldemort to Severus to Regulus and back again. They’re only here because she respects and fears the Dark Lord. He would have just killed her outright if he didn't think he could manipulate her into joining his ranks.

"I thought that would be obvious," she says slowly. "I'm a Slytherin. We respect power above all things, no matter what form it takes."

Voldemort chuckles. The warm sound runs a shiver down her spine, makes her breath come even shorter.

Softly, he says, "They do not understand you as I do, Lucy. No one can. No one will ever know the insatiable desire pulsating through your veins as I do."

He turns to his followers in a swish of black silk and loudly pronounces, "Lucille has not used something as common as polyjuice or transfiguration. No, my friends. She has used the same forbidden magic that your lord has used this night."

Lucy glances at the ring on his hand, a thick silver band inset with uncut rubies. Her own is much more modest, but then she only expected to use it for a few hours. If she'd wanted to slip into Yaxley for years to come, she would need more than runes and silver to anchor his blood.

"Show them, Lucille," the Dark Lord commands.

The ring is off before he finishes speaking. Her body immediately shrinks and widens until she is swimming in her tailored suit and polished oxfords. The waistband of her trousers tightens with a flick of Yaxley's wand, but she hastily replaces his with her own. She breathes out a sigh of relief when the ebony wood thrums against her palm. Though conquered into coercion, Yaxley’s was never content to do her bidding. Though she should at least be thankful that the core isn't unicorn hair. Everything would have been fucked if it had been.

Lucy quickly vanishes her outer robe and then shrinks her pants and shoes. There's nothing to be done for the loose vest and billowing shirt, but she'll at least be able to run away without falling on her face.

"Your ring," Voldemort commands.

She banishes it in his direction to avoid direct contact. He smirks knowingly down at her. He's tall. Taller even than Severus, who surpasses six feet by an inch or two.

"A blood glamour," he explains, holding the ring close to his crimson eyes. "Expertly done. Flawlessss."

"My lord," Yaxley inquires hesitantly. Voldemort waves him on impatiently, his attention still caught on her ring. The painful pressure in her chest loosens the slightest bit.

Dearest Uncle Corban rounds on Lucy with barely constrained rage. He seethes at her for several beats before he manages to bite out, “Does my nephew live."

"For now," she answers, relieved to have escaped the Dark Lord’s scrutiny. It doesn’t hurt to breathe as much. She’ll have a panic attack before the night’s out. "I figure he has another day or so in the circle."

"What circle?" The old wizard asks.

"The Sanguis Vinculum."

Bellatrix Lestrange finally loses control. Her haughty features contort into a furious scowl that betrays the madness brimming under her porcelain skin. She looks so much like Andromeda it hurts, but Lucy can't afford to think of that now. She shoves it down, down, down until the twisting in her gut disappears into an unnatural calm.

"And where did a filthy little mudblood learn of such sacred-“

"Bellatrix," Voldemort snaps. The act of a benevolent lord is abandoned for that of his true facade. An almost hysterical fury pulsates from him, causing even his oldest followers to cower in on themselves. ”The girl has more brains than you could ever hope to and more drive than any of the rest of you will ever be capable of. You have all grown complacent in your prosperity. Girl!”

Lucy’s heart lurches painfully. “Yes, my lord?” She squeaks out.

The wand raises again and Lucy knows, deep in her bones, what is about to happen. She has prepared for this since she was eight years old, when her new sister-in-law agreed to teach her.

“ _Legilimens_!”   


Lucy’s knees buckle from the force of his strike. He is a snake on the hunt, scales writhing through the forest after his prey.

_Yaxley‘s prone body surrounded by a sinister arrangement of circles and runes in the dingy bedroom;blood rushing to her head as she meticulously draws shapes onto the common room ceiling; blue flames licking at Yaxley’s long bare feet, his screams echoing off the dungeon walls; Regulus casting a lazy cruciatus; Regulus inviting her back to the common room, Dumbledore's rapt with attention between them._

An alien fit of anger clouds Lucy's mind. She breathes it in, settles it into her bones, letting it steer him away from everything else that happened that night.

_Dumbledore saying, "You’ve spent your years at my school studying the same old magics that Tom was partial to. Quite frankly, the only reason I haven’t intervened thus far is because you do not hold enough brute power to become a Lady in your own right."; Lucy dismantling the wards around the Headmaster's office and sneering at his disapproving expression as she crosses the threshold; Dumbledore's eyes darkening as the Hat tells her to go be great and terrible._

_Green light illuminating the Common Room; flobberworms exploding in a ritual circle; skin sliding off of a squeaking rat’s body under an orange spell; Severus grinning triumphantly as their poison bubbles the blood of a pine marten._

_Awe as Severus disarms her in two jabs of his wand; amused affection as he shoves her away from a bubbling cauldron; fondness as he snorts at Regulus’s dramatic tirade; love- pure, unadulterated, fierce love- as his face contorts into horror over Violet’s book._

The Dark Lord rips himself out of her mind with an almighty lurch. Lucy comes to on sore knees. The soft light blinds her vision and Bellatrix’s mad cackling grates on her ears. She blinks several times to orient herself to the stinging rawness of the world. Voldemort stares down at her with a mixture of antipathy and calculation as she rubs her eyes.

"That... _love_ you feel...” he muses. "You would join me if I swore no harm would come to those you love."

"Probably," she admits, pushing herself to her feet. The best lies stem from the truth, after all.

He tilts his head to the side as if she were an interesting test rat. Just as she's sure he's going to call her out or perhaps kill her outright, he says, "Retrieve Gawain Yaxley."

Most of Lucy's plans hinge on how laughably undervalued house elves are. Coco can't just drop him in the middle of Malfoy Manor. She definitely isn’t about to send Voldemort and his cronies into the middle of Manchester. Especially that part. It’s a rough area with hardened people that have been battling their whole lives to just survive. It would start a war the likes of which has never been seen.

"Malfoy will have to make a portkey," she finally says.

After a short nod from the Dark Lord, Malfoy scrambles around until another older wizard produces a crumbled quill. Lucy doesn't dare call for Coco until it glows blue. When the house elf arrives, her little body is a taut as her starched pink uniform, but she meets Lucy's gaze with a brutal focus.

“Coco, I need you to please smear the left triangles on the circle we made and place the portkey in Yaxley’s hand. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Miss Lucy,” she agrees, her ears flopping as she nods.

“Thank you.”

The others gape at her with disgust and horror. Only the OG Death Eater and Voldemort seem interested. Regulus, of course, has always appreciated house elves and settles for smugness.

“You let it help with a circle?!” Malfoy cries aghast.

“She’s magic isn’t she?” Lucy asks.

“Will it be a wand next?” The third wizard drawls.

“Of course not. They don’t want wands; that’d be much too boring. Now, a goblin, that would be interesting.”

Even Voldemort glances at her strangely. More worryingly, Regulus looks contemplative. Lucy is reminded of his crass consideration to offer a Yaxley up as dragon dinner. She hastens to bury the thought deep down before they catch anyone’s attention. Only Severus- and perhaps Regulus- are capable of fooling the Dark Lord.

A loud crack echoes and Gawain Yaxley appears midair. He falls to the floor with a thud. Thankfully, the room is too occupied with him to notice Coco’s bout of sass. The defeated boy, and Merlin does he look like such a young boy, breaks into relieved sobs at the sight of his uncle. Guilt pricks at Lucy. She doesn’t want to be like these people. She doesn’t want to be cruel and cold and-

Regulus stomps on the top of her foot, his eyes glacial when she peers up at him.

 _Get yourself together,_ he seems to say.

“You are a disgrace.”

Lucy jumps, ridiculously assuming that the insult was directed to her. Instead, Corban Yaxley is looming over his pitiful nephew. One corner of his lips are pulled back in derision and a red flush is creeping up his neck 

“You humiliate us with your asininity and impotence.”

“Please,” Gawain wheezes. “Sev, please.”

Severus is unmoved. He merely continues to watchwith his customary apathy.

Gawain contorts his body painfully to beseech Regulus. “Black. Black, don’t let him. Please. I don’t- I’m only sevent-“

“ _Avada kedavra_!” Yaxley cries. 

The library glows green and Gawain Yaxley slumps to the carpet with unseeing eyes. Something cracks underneath the thick walls of her Occlumency shields. A shallow fissure bisecting a cliff, loud and vulgar as it cleaves up and up to the snowy precipice, a prelude to the disastrous avalanche to come.

Voldemort’s face splits into a wide grin, a smile made all the worse by Bellatrix’s insane cackling. He spins on his heel to turn his unholy joy onto Lucy.

“You will join us, Lucille, and you will be worth ten of what he would have been.”

“Th-that’s a big decision to make.”

“Of course,” he preens, sidling closer. Lucy uses every bit of strength she has to remain still. “It is a momentous decision to make. You will come to learn that Lord Voldemort is charitable. I will allow you to finish your year at Hogwarts.”

“Thank you, my lord. That is indeed very gracious.”

“Indeed. Until then, however, a demonstration of what awaits you should you refuse my invitation. _Crucio_.”

Lucy’s world dissolves into pain. It begins in her chest and storms out to the tips of her hair. Her body arches into the torment, rolling with it as crests.

 _Don’t scream_ , she thinks. _Don’t scream, don’t scream don’t scream don’t scream._

“Good. Very good, Lucille. _Crucio_!”

If the first was a storm, this is a blizzard. It cuts through her bones, searing through her blood until her joints are exploding and her skull is ringing and everything is gone. There is only her and her body and the agony. She screams. It unfurls from her lungs, tearing through her throat, and yet the pain still comes. It comes and comes and comes until her throat is raw and her arms are twitching and darkness swallows her up.

 _Finally_ , she thinks, and she assumes it’s her last thought in the world until she wakes up in a new world with a new body and a new name.

It is not to be. Fate is never so kind. She wakes up in a soft bed with James Potter’s face a hands-breath above her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know their excuse of suicide in this chapter was callous and distasteful, but Lucy is willing to do almost anything to survive and protect her family. I do not condone lying about suicide or belittling suicide attempts in any way, just as I do not endorse murdering your nephew because he embarrassed you in front of your friends. 
> 
> I like the idea that Dumbledore followed Snape in and hid the whole time, but if you prefer to think of him sneaking up that’s okay too. (Moody tipped him off just like Violet’s brother did.) Also I didn’t make the minister names up. According to the wiki, Harold Minchum was the Minister of Magic from 1975-1980 followed by Millicent Bagnold from 1980-1990.
> 
> And finally, congrats to Madam3Mayh3m for calling the party guest correctly!
> 
> As for the pairing, as much as I love love LOVE a triad, I just don’t see this Reggie and Sirius sharing anything, especially a wifey. I’m afraid it would deplete from the rest of the story if I tried to squeeze it in. (BUT I really, really, really love the idea of Regulus giving her and Sirius the green light to have a thing for a while until Sirius meets someone...serious. I just don’t think it’s feasible for his character. OR maybe if Sirius somehow got sent to Azkaban and needed to heal....maybe in an alternate ending??) I’m not saying a definite NO to the triad. If it happens organically, it happens, but I don’t want to force it. 
> 
> Sorry for the long notes but this was a long chapter so there was a lot to impact. 
> 
> As a side note, I’ve got so many ideas for the final battle. 😫😫😫 I’ve never written a big battle before but Ive already written some of the characters in it and I’m so excited to get there. So many people working together that you wouldn’t expect.


	11. Fiendfyre

Potter shrieks.

Lucy shrieks.

He jerks back as if he’d been slapped. She jolts upright, pulls out her wand, and begins to shout out the first curse that comes to mind, but her incantation is disrupted by a spell. Her ebony wand flies into James Potter’s hand with a soft thwack. Most people, Lucy included, underestimate Potter. Everything about Sirius is intimidating: his name, his looks, his demeanor. Potter, on the other hand, struts around the castle with a goofy smile and shouts love poetry at Evans across the library. Nothing about him seems dangerous until you catch him dueling furiously with Severus or witness him transfigure one of his mates into a parrot with a lazy wave of his wand.

“It’s almost eight in the morning on Sunday, December twenty-third,” an aged voice says. Potter points his wand to the ground in a show of peace. ”You are in a guest room at Potter Hall.”

A tall, slender man with wild white hair appears next to her bed wearing a bathrobe and a lopsided grin. The room is small and the furniture is old and worn, but it has the same warm aura as Ted's house.

“H-how did I get here?” She rasps. Her throat is raw. Every word she speaks cuts and burns from her tongue to her lungs.

“Regulus Black appeared at the gate just before midnight carrying you in his arms.”

James Potter stands beside his father with the most sincere expression he’s probably ever worn. The two of them look almost eerily alike, except for Mr. Potter’s aged features and blue eyes. They’re the same icy shade of blue as Narcissa's. It really is worrying how inbred they all are.

“I’ve never seen...I thought you were dead,” Potter says.

Lucy nods dejectedly. That's been happening too often lately. She lies back against the chestnut headboard, surprised to see that the bed has a canopy. She hadn’t noticed the flowing blue curtains in her panicked state.

Mr. Potter clears his throat. "Sirius is out with a female friend and I understand that your family just went into hiding, so I thought it best if I treat you here. Potions can replace just about any healing charm if you’re good enough at them."

“Thank you,” Lucy murmurs.

The small part of her that doesn’t feel like she’s just been run over by the Hogwarts Express is impressed. He must be very good indeed to possess the ability to substitute healing magic with spells. Granted, her case wasn’t very complicated. No enchanted corpses or evil potions this time, just plain and simple torture.

Lucy takes a deep breath to bolster herself against the pain of speaking as much as she’s about to.

“If you’ll just give me a list of the potions, I’ll summon my house elf to take me home.”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Potter cries. “You’ll stay here until you’re better.”

Lucy sighs. Blasted bleeding heart Gryffindors. “Really, Mr. Potter-“

“Fleamont,” he interrupts.

“Fleamont, then,” she huffs. “I’ve got-“

“Don’t be rude, girl,” a woman cuts in.

An elderly witch with a long nose and a sleek, silver bob appears in the doorway. Past her, Lucy can just make out cozy cream walls and an antiquated map of India. There is a pile of fabric tossed over her right arm and a pale wand in her left hand. Lucy’s heart races at the sight of it. She can smell the old parchment in the library, feel the dark magic scratching her arms, see Voldemort standing above her, handsome and proud with his own pale wand raised, neon red light gathering-

“Lucy!”

James Potter lunges forward to squeeze her arm. She cringes back against the bed, suddenly desperate for one of Regulus’s vicious stinging hexes. Potter cringes too, but doesn’t move away. He plops down on the downy bed and stares at her with his mouth half open.

“Merlin, Tonks! What the hell happened to you?!”

“The Dark Lord,” She chokes out, struggling to raise her Occlumency shields. 

Shielding the mind is a convoluted process. Andromeda began teaching Lucy Occlumency before Hogwarts. The lessons mainly centered around erecting shields and fighting against invaders. Forcing an unskilled witch or wizard out is simple enough. Lying will suffice for those of slightly more talent. There isn't much protection against the likes of Severus, Dumbledore, or Voldemort, so the most one can do is to try to manipulate them and pray to god it works. Life is not so simple, however, and people are even more complex. In the realm of mind arts, there are those more dangerous than the likes of James Potter and weaker than Severus Snape and Tom Riddle. For those threats, a more intricate response is required: a prison.

The prison also doubles as a visual aid in creating shields. Lucy constructed hers to resemble the Room of Requirement. More competent occlumens have mindscapes that aren't limited to such mundane concepts as rooms, but she's nonetheless proud of her creation. It is a labyrinth of rubbish and treasure, tempting the wanderer with memories linked to the sapphire tiaras and worn books that they encounter within. Compartmentalizing is as easy slamming pesky emotions or thoughts into a wardrobe somewhere along the maze. It isn’t the healthiest way to go about life, but concessions are allowed when saving the world.

“He isn’t after me,” Lucy explains calmly. “Last night was a parting gift. A prelude to what I can expect after Hogwarts, one might say.”

“Bloody hell,” Fleamont whispers.

“Like I said, if you just give me-“

“And like I said,” Mrs. Potter snaps, “you shouldn’t be rude.”

Lucy is suddenly reminded of the time she asked Sirius if he took divination. ‘Mrs. Potter wouldn’t let us,’ he’d said. Now that she’s met the woman, Lucy can believe it. Euphemia Potter isn’t a witch to cross.

"You'll shower and you'll sit down and eat breakfast with us," she orders, "and then Sirius will take you home and watch over you when he arrives. If he doesn't arrive before you lose your patience, I'll send my son with you until he does."

"Mum-"

"Mrs. P-"

The witch's eyes flash dangerously. "It's either that or contacting your head of house, Ms. Tonks."

Lucy sighs. She has a feeling she'll be doing a lot of that today. "I’ll settle for Potter."

Potter grimaces, but gives her a commiserating nod. No one talks to Slughorn unless they need something. Besides, he would probably bring Dumbledore and she is not capable of holding him at bay in her current state.

"Good. Then James will help you around. These are some old muggle clothes of Sirius's. I'll place them in the guest bath for you."

Lucy nods. "Thank you. Really, thank you."  
  
"This is war," Fleamont shrugs. "Those of us on the same side have to look out for one another."

"Come on, darling. Best leave them to it," His wife orders.

Fleamont takes her arm and leads her out of the room with a jaunty wink. He returns almost immediately, waving his wand at a tray of potions. A blue vial zooms from atop the heavy dresser to Lucy's lap.

"For your throat, dear."

He disappears in a flash of white hair. Lucy doesn't hesitate to guzzle the potion down greedily. It tastes like cool peppermint and leaves her throat tingling.

"You ready?" Potter asks.

"I guess."

Lucy curses Sirius to the deepest pit of hell with every slow step she takes. Its mortifying to rely on James fucking Potter to simply go down the hall. To make things worse, the fool forgets that he has her wand when she demands it back. After she emerges from a difficult shower, he helps her down a narrow spiral staircase and into a sunny kitchen. Potter Hall is large ancestral seat, maybe four of Ted's two-story cottage, but its no Malfoy Manor. The decor and furniture is welcoming and worn, obviously collected over several generations, and the portraits are as jovial as the ones lining Hogwart’s walls.

"We may be purebloods but we didn't come into wealth until my father," James explains as he helps her into a seat. The kitchen table is round with mismatched chairs and threadbare cushions. Across the room, Lucy can see the very top of a house elf's head bob over the countertops as he cleans up his mess. "Since its just us, we never really saw the point of buying some chateau in the countryside."

"I like it loads better than Malfoy Manor," she assures him, "though they did have the most magnificent library."

"Is that where you were attacked?" Fleamont asks.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it an attack," She says breezily. "It wasn't really unexpected."

"What do you mean?" Potter asks as he shovels heaps of eggs onto his plate.

"Well, I was technically burglarizing, so I suppose I should count myself lucky that the Dark Lord was the one who caught me. Narcissa and I have never had the most amicable relationship."

The table goes silent. Lucy glances up to find all three of the Potters gaping again. Before anyone can question her further, the massive brick hearth on the left wall flares green. The house elf cheerily trots over and sticks his head in the flames. When he emerges a moment later, the happy grin is gone from his face.

"Regulus Black is asking to visit, sirs," he squeaks.

The three Potters share a silent conversation. Potter seems to be vehemently against the idea, while his parents keep casting pointed looks at Lucy, who has just recalled her panicked actions from the night before. Regulus was not the target of Voldemort’s attention and had stolen the locket in other timeline, so in her desperation she had shoved the diary into his robe pocket.

Regulus Black is in possession of a horcrux.

“I can talk to him outside, but I've got to talk to him. Like, now."

Mrs. Potter looks her over with lips pressed into a thin line. "Very well. Pokey, let him through."

Regulus arrives dressed in the same indigo robes from the night before. His hair is almost worse than either Potter's and there is a manic gleam to his gray eyes. Lucy swallows thickly. Surely he hasn't had time to write in it. It can't have affected him already, can it? He's got a will as strong as anyone. It would take more than a few hours to get its claws in a mind like that. Wouldn't it?

“I see my brother still isn't here,” he says in a smooth voice.

“He's out with a friend, I’m afraid,” Fleamont says, rising to shake his hand. “We’ve just sat down to eat if you’d like to join us.”

The two wizards release the other's grip quickly. Lucy curses under her breath. They were supposed to go outside for this, not suffer through an hour of breakfast and awkward small talk.

“Thank you, Fleamont. I’m afraid I’ll have to take you up on your offer. Its imperative that I speak with Sirius and it may take him hours yet to stumble out of whatever cesspit he’ll find himself in when he wakes. Your owl hasn't returned from Cokeworth, has it?"

James Potter and Lucy both tense as he passes behind them to take the seat on her right. She glances surreptitiously at his robes, but of course she can't see anything. It is nothing more than a foolish, telling endeavor. 

“Still with Lily, I’m afraid,” Fleamont answers.

“There are other means of communication,” Regulus drawls.

Mrs. Potter’s thin lips pull back in a snarl. “Is that your way of asking us to produce a patronus, Black? You're hardly seventeen and already so deep into-“

Lucy’s Occlumency shields shatter. Her emotions crash through like a river flooding a cardboard dam. The lingering fear from the manor, the guilt from Yaxley’s death, relying on a family she’s never met, being suffocated in a house that reminds her so much of the home that she'll probably never see again; it’s all too much. It has nowhere to go, no concrete form to take. It morphs into a restless ball of fury that pricks at her bones, eager to be unleashed.

“You’ll have to forgive us if witnessing a classmate’s murder does nothing to encourage happy thoughts,” she hisses.

The tense air turns frigid at her words.

"Murdered?!" Potter cries. "Who was murdered?!"

“It was only one Yaxley killing another,” Regulus explains as he loads up his plate. “Quite crass, really.”

“Crass?!" Lucy chokes out. "You call that crass?!”

Regulus turns in his chair, his lips pulled down in a frown. They don’t have the same mesmerizing angles that his brother’s do, but they’re no less full.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for him?”

“He was only a boy!”

His disbelieving expression contorts into shocked horror. “You feel guilty, don’t you?!”

“Of course I do! I was him!”

Regulus turns back to his breakfast. He’s quite for several movements. When he does speak, his movements never stutter, nor does his voice change from it’s politely bored inflection.

“That _boy_ would have raped you half to death while you watched the rest of your family be torn apart limb by limb. If Corban Yaxley hadn’t killed him last night, I would ritually murdered him under a new moon. Gawain Yaxley ensured that he would not reach his eighteenth birthday when he threatened Andromeda’s daughter.”

Silence reigns, unbroken except for the scrape of Regulus's fork against his plate. He pauses once he notices the reaction to his words and rolls his eyes.

"That’s awfully specific of you, mate,” Potter says with a nervous laugh.

“I’ve recently come across a jasper crystal that’s begging to be filled.”

Any other day, Lucy might have been been insatiably curious about his plans for such a crystal. Crystals are powerful components of wards, rituals, and runic circles. Gifted enchanters can turn them into amulets, both protective and sinister. Regulus Black isn’t an altruist. Any purpose he has for such a crystal is bound to be interesting. As it is, Lucy can’t bring herself to care either way. All she can think about is the diary....

“It’s here,” she breathes.

“Where is it?” She demands. “Where-“

Regulus reaches into his robes and tosses a ruined black book onto the kitchen table. The edges are singed and curled in on themselves and the pages have smoldered to half their size. Lucy stares. She stares and stares, trying her best to ignore the buzzing in her ear. So much planning. Years and years of planning and hard work and it’s gone.

“I almost died,” she whispers, her forgotten rage rearing it’s head to to strike. “I was tortured nearly to death for this and you destroyed it?”

He rounds on her incredulously. “Do you know-“

“OF COURSE I FUCKING KNOW!” She explodes. Her chair clatters to the ground as she stands to glare down at him. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO FACE HIM KNOWING WHAT ALL I’VE STOLEN? TO HAVE HIM IN MY MIND? TO HAVE HIS MAGIC CLAWING AND CUTTING AT ME FROM THE INSIDE? AND YOU JUST STROLL IN HERE, PRETTY AS YOU PLEASE, AND JUST THROW IT ON THE TABLE, ALREADY DESTROYED?! YOU’RE A SPOILED, SELFISH, FOUL LITTLE-“

A door slams against the wall and Sirius Black barges into the kitchen with a smile as bright as the sun framing his tall figure.

“Gooooood morn...what the fuck.”

His wide, gray eyes dart from every face gathered at the table, his gaze lingering on his brother the longest. He’s just as disheveled as Lucy and Regulus, though in a way that speaks of a pleasant evening rather than one of torture and espionage.

“Yeah, I’ll just-“

Lucy jerks to her feet. “Sirius Black, if you walk out that door I won’t bother to intervene when they come for you.”

Sirius scoffs. “As if Death Eaters-“

“I’m not talking about Death Eaters,” she snarls.

He furrows his brows as he thinks something through. After a moment, his mouth drops open as he comes to some horrific realization. He begins to say something, but then glances around the table again and thinks better of it.

“I hate to be so rude Mr. and Mrs. Potter, but we will have to commandeer your kitchen for the next hour or so.”

“I see you don’t hate it enough to ask,” Mrs. Potter snaps.

“Oh, he does,” Lucy assures her. “Such social gaffes are below a wizard of his station. It’s why he finds Corban Yaxley’s actions so crass.”

“What’s Yaxley got to do with anything?” Sirius asks.

“Murdered Gawain,” Regulus explains.

Sirius furrows his brow, then shrugs elegantly. “Good on him.”

Lucy buries her head in her hands. She presses her heels hard enough into her eyes for white fireworks to burst across her vision. She tries to focus on them, to center herself around their soft explosions, to forget the dead hazel eyes peering at her spot beside Regulus, Bellatrix’s insane cackling and the smell of old leather and dark magic-

“Lucille.”

Hands press on her shoulders, guide her to twist to the right, then wrap around her wrists and gently tug until her hands pull away. Regulus leans in with an unreadable expression.

“This isn’t you,” he murmurs.

Lucy tries to jerk free from his grip, but he holds tight, going so far as to pull her closer. She glances around nervously. The kitchen is empty except for the two of them. Even Sirius has disappeared with the Potters.

“What’s bothering you?”

Her attention flicks back to Regulus. His gray eyes flit across her face while his thumbs rub circles into her wrists. The bright winter sun casts a halo of blue tint to his hair, the same way Sirius’s changes under the sunlight. Some ancestor of theirs had to do something awful to ensure their line would remain beautiful. There’s no way it’s a natural occurrence for literally every family member to be so attractive.

“Do you think one of your ancestors did something to make you all so pretty?” She asks. “Some kind of ritual or whatever and it worked, but it made you all crazy too?”

Regulus huffs in amusement. “No.”

Lucy hesitates. He said it too definitively. Like he knows why they’re all half mad. It’s really none of her business, it doesn’t really matter in the long run, but she’s always been too curious for her own good.

“No?” She hedges.

“One of our ancestors was a bit overenthusiastic in his research.” He releases her hands and lounges back in his seat. She’s surprised by the sudden cold. “He went too far. Summoned someone he shouldn’t have.”

“Who was it?”

”He only meant to summon something relatively harmless, but someone very powerful noticed the bridge and decided to traverse across.”

Lucy wrinkles her nose. “Surely you’re not talking about demons?”

“You don’t believe?” he asks challengingly. “Not even in other dimensions?”

“Of course not. I-“

_I died. I know._

Regulus’s gaze sharpens. She looks out the window, watching one garden gnome shove another off the hedge. Death was not a torturous inferno or a golden city. There were no angels or demons. There was nothing, a soothing darkness, until she woke up in a new world. A magical, fantastical world she read in a book. Who is she to deny that there are other worlds out there? Worlds in different books, holy books, or not in any kinds of books at all? She shivers as she contemplates just what sort of hellish world she could have been dropped into.

“Anyway,” Regulus continues, granting her a rare instance of mercy, “his journal has been preserved and shared with every Black throughout the centuries, cautioning us against the darkest of magics.”

Both of them look at the ruined diary.

“Sirius never told me that.”

“Yes, well, Sirius can’t work out if he’s ashamed of his heritage, can he?”

“He’s just scared.” She picks up the diary and begins flipping through the pages. Some of them crinkle and others crumble to ash between her fingers. “He’s afraid of crossing a line.”

Regulus hums thoughtfully. She tries and spectacularly fails to ignore his gaze burning into her skin.

“And when did you adopt that fear? You’ve never been shied away from the worst parts of yourself.”

Lucy chews on her lip anxiously. “I wasn’t always like this. I wouldn’t have hurt a fly before I was sorted into Slytherin. And now I’m..." She lets out a sharp exhale, forcing the smell of burning flesh in the common room away. "Where is the line, Regulus? At what point do I become one of them?”

“Do you plan to murder a child anytime soon?”

“No-“

“What about committing genocide?”

“No,” she huffs, “but-“

“Stop doubting yourself. You’re better than this. If it were anyone else you would tell them to stop being such a sentimental fool."

Her protest dies on her tongue. He's right, of course. If it were Sirius or Potter she would tell them to grow up and face reality. Hesitating in war only results in death. There is no time to stop and debate ethics. Lucy sighs and leans back in her chair, staring at her apple as if it holds the answers to the universe.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she mutters bitterly.

"You faced the Dark Lord. You're allowed a moment of asininity."

"Wow, thanks. You're so benevolent, Regulus."

He shoots her a blinding smile. "Anything for you, love."

Lucy scoffs and crosses her arms, doing her best to fight against the fluttering sensation in her chest.

"How did you destroy it anyway?" she grumbles.

Regulus grins his wolffish grin, the one she's beginning to realize as his true one, and raises his wand.

" _Fiendfyre_ ," he whispers

Lucy barely has enough time to scamper to her feet before a tiny white and orange wolf tears its claws into her half-eaten toast. With another flick of his wand, a small flaming dragon flies to eviscerate her apple. The two creatures rip and bite and shred the food until there is nothing but ashes and a blackened core of fruit.

" _Endefyre_."

The fiendfyre vanishes without a trace, only the scent of burnt food lingering the air. Lucy goggles down at Regulus, her eyes almost painfully wide. He smirks back. Summoning the cursed flames is simple enough. Controlling them, canceling them, is nearly impossible. She never had the courage to try. For all of her occlumency, she is under an unbelievable amount of stress that is always begging to be released. Regulus, though...

Regulus must always be in control. He must always be fighting against something inside of himself if he can accomplish that. It isn't about power of skill. It's about discipline. Restraint.

"Your Occlumency shields must be a work of art," she mutters.

He raises a brow. "I can show you if you'd like."

"What."

"I can show you," he repeats with a smirk.

"Why? Isn’t that a bit, I dunno, personal?"

"Why not? I took care of that for you,” he says, grimacing at the horcrux. “There’s no reason we can’t be a little more, I dunno, personal.”

Lucy’s brows raise to the top of her head. “There is so much to unpack in that statement, but I think the most important part is that you are under the impression that there’s only one of those.”

In the years that she’s known Regulus, he’s always been perfectly composed. Always graceful and stoic. Never angry shouting or belly-aching laughs or shocked gasps. Regulus is always nonchalant, a smirk or a sneer always waiting below the surface. Now, however, he is deathly pale. His mouth is half gaping, half twisted in disgust and horror. His wide eyes peer into her own in a futile attempt to discover a lie or prank.

“We’re down to the last one,” she says. “I’ve got the other three hidden. If he doesn’t know that you’ve burnt that one to a crisp, I might as well go pick them up when I get a chance.”

She lowers herself back down, wincing at the pain in every joint from her hips to her toes.

Regulus licks his lips anxiously. “This is what you and Siri have been up to. This is why you went after the basilisk.”

“Yep,” she affirms, popping the p.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck,” she agrees. “I was trying to figure out how to ask your for help on the last one, but you’ve gone and made it easy for me, thank god.”

He frowns deeply. “What do you need me for? Sirius was taught everything I was and that sword proves that he isn’t above using it.”

“You can say no,” she tells him.

Regulus draws himself up with an almost comical expression of affront on his handsome features.

“I wasn’t saying no. What do you take me for? I’m a Black.”

“Alright,” she says, fighting back a grin. “It’s just dangerous, is all I’m saying. And this one might be the worst.”

“Worse?” He cries incredulously. “Worse than inferi? Worse than the Dark Lord himself?”

“Yes. It’s in Gringotts, you see. In the Lestrange vault.” At his tense shoulders, she hurries to explain, “I can go to Dumbledore. I need to go to him soon anyway now that Vol...“

Her voice wavers when his lips pull back into a dangerous smile that puts a mad glint in his eyes.

“I don’t like that face,” she tells him.

Regulus stands abruptly, straightening his robes and pocketing an orange. “Tell me love, will your brother be attending the Longbottom’s party tomorrow?”

“Er. Yeah, but what’s that got to do with all of this? What are you planning?”

Regulus bends down to press his lips to the crown of her head, nearly startling her out of her seat. By the time she’s come out of her shocked state, he’s already tossing powder into the fire.

“Give Sirius my love, won’t you?”

“Regulus!” She calls, rising to her feet, but he’s already swirling away in green fire. 

The kitchen door opens and Sirius stalks through with his wand not-so-casually pointed at the floor.

“Where’d he go? What happened?”

Lucy stares at the fireplace, her thoughts whirling faster than the flames had. 

“I have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! I already had it written, but it was centered around Orion Black and then I realized I'd already killed him off a few chapters ago and I had to write it all over. I wanted this to include the Longbottom's ball, but it was getting a little long and I didn't want you to have to wait much longer. 
> 
> Fiend is a word with Old English/Germanic origins, so I liked the idea of it being one of those old druid spells that I've mentioned in this fic. Also, ende is the Old English term for end/finish.


	12. That One Ritual with the Elf-Wine

Lucy Tonks prides herself on being a pragmatist. Lying to oneself only creates more work down the road and Lucy’s already got enough work to do as it is. In that way, part of being a pragmatist is being a realist. She embraced her strengths and flaws and twisted them to her advantage. It wasn’t just her ambition that got her sorted into Slythern, after all. She may be intelligent, ruthless, and loving, but she is also selfish and violent and prideful. So very prideful. 

When Ted told her that they would be going to the Longbottom’s party, she immediately consulted Violet. She figured that if she had to spend hours with a bunch of elite Gryffindors, she was going to look damn good suffering through it. Violet, with her dreams of conquering the wizarding runways of Paris and Milan, nearly convulsed with excitement at the prospect. 

She outdid herself. The sleek gold gown shifts to green and black with the light. Because of the bold fabric, the cut of the gown is simple: thin straps and almost too tight to walk in. Lucy might have complained if it weren’t for the lack of corset. Some of the sketches involved painful combinations of ribbons, boning, and sticking charms. She’d put her foot down on that and the lack of wand holster. No way was she going out in a middle of the war without her bloody wand. Not after last time. 

In the shadow of the mansion, Lucy checks her wand- Violet made a matching holster comprised of a thousand gold straps- and smooths down her hair one last time. She can only hope that this party goes better than the last one. 

Walking into Longbottom Hall is like stepping onto the set of a period drama. She half expects Keira Knightley or Colin Firth to come around the corner in a full get-up. Even the ceiling is magnificent: a gold trimmed monstrosity complete with a wizarding fresco. Unlike Malfoy Manor, however, the gold detailing of the ceiling, chandeliers, and picture frames are used to enhance the paneled walls and contrast the black and white flooring. It’s all very British. No boastful hints of French ancestry will be found in Augusta Longbottom’s home. It’s certainly much louder too. Even the orchestra is playing a ribald tune instead of a polite holiday carol. 

Yet for all their differences, it is a wartime social gathering. An underlying sense of anxiousness haunts the joyful atmosphere. The witches and wizards have come dressed to the nines, eager to showcase their wealth and power to the Ministry. She recognizes a few from her rounds as Yaxley. 

Lucy accepts a glass of elf wine and begins to make her way through the crowd. A sparkling sequin hat has caught her attention. It takes nearly three minutes and two good stinging hexes, but she eventually slips through the sea of partygoers to the furthest wall. There, under a forest landscape nearly as large as her little dormitory, Albus Dumbledore stands in a near blinding set of holiday robes. He senses her presence almost immediately and beckons for her to join him. 

Lucy sips on her wine and makes a show of eyeing Dumbledore’s outfit. “I do so hope Voldemort decides to attack. I would give nothing more than to see you fight to death in that sequin monstrosity.”

Most of the audience takes that as their cue to mingle elsewhere. Only Mad-Eye Moody remains, clad in plain black robes. His hair, at least, might have been brushed for once. 

"I met him, you know," she drawls, moving to stand beside the wizards. "Voldemort."

Moody's blue eye snaps to her face. Dumbledore tenses, but he never drops his jovial expression. "Where?" He asks quietly. "When?" 

"The Malfoy library, two nights ago."

Dumbledore relaxes the slightest bit. "And what did you think?"

"He made me feel like I was being baptized in magic."

Moody snorts. "And how long did that last until he started torturing you?"

"An hour. A year. It felt like ages and no time at all. I’ve never been more terrified."  
“I assume he recruited you,” Dumbledore says.

Lucy takes a long drink of wine. A cold voice echoes in her ears.

“Lord Voldemort is charitable,” she quotes, downing her drink. It refills itself automatically. “You could weaponize this, you know. Most poisons negate refilling charms, but perhaps if you only used a little bit at a time or even a non-magical poison. It would be perfect for something needs to be delivered in small doses to disguise the taste.”

Moody produces a flask from a hidden pocket and gives her a sarcastic toast. “And that’s why I only drink from this.”

“Which works splendidly until someone impersonates you via Polyjuice and no one questions Mad-Eye Moody drinking out of his own flask all day.”

Moody stares. Dumbledore sighs almost imperceptibly. “Please do not encourage him, Miss Tonks.”

“Constant vigilance,” she counters. 

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Eventually, an old man with twinkling stars for cuff links ventures over to greet the headmaster. It opens a floodgate. Lucy stands beside Dumbledore as he shakes hands and gives odd compliments. Almost every person seems lighter as they step back into the crowd. Whatever else he is, Dumbledore is a manipulator. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He takes their worried thoughts and shifts them to fond memories or teases them with his bottomless well of knowledge. Lucy can’t help wondering what it would be like to stand beside Voldemort at his most charming. 

Eventually, Ted and Andy push their way through. They’ve always made a striking couple; Ted all round edges and warm colors and Andy with her sharp angles and stormy eyes. They are exceptionally stunning tonight in matching green robes. Lucy relishes in the sight of them for a heartbeat before her heart explodes. She shoves her wineglass at Dumbledore and barrels into their arms. They smell like vanilla and brown sugar and baby powder and home. 

The night passes much quicker with her family close. She even forgets to scowl at Pettigrew when the Marauders arrive. Dumbledore has just distracted Andy long enough for James and Pettigrew to make their escape when a man sporting black robes, a thin mustache, and a severe parting clears his throat imperiously. His fair-haired, freckled son broods in his shadow. Lucy watches Mad-Eye Moody shake Barty Crouch with the same sort of morbid curiosity she reserves for Lucius Malfoy. 

She hurries to leave before she says something stupid. 

Lucy wanders aimlessly through the ballroom for a while, taking in all the magic and people. One old man catches her eye and raises his glass in a toast. All of the blood rushes from her face. It’s the OG Death Eater, the one who stood beside Voldemort. She rallies up her fear and welds it to her spine, bolstering herself against the nerves dancing in her stomach. She raises her glass, inclines her head, and calmly, carefully, walks in the other direction. 

The other direction, unfortunately, leads right to the library. This one is nothing like the Malfoy’s. It is much smaller and heavier, the shelves squat and thick and overflowing. Nonetheless, she can’t quite bring herself to step over the threshold. A half hour later, it’s where Sirius finds her leaning against a polished archway while others peruse the shelves. 

“I need to talk to you,” he says. 

He looks very Gryffindor in red dress robes, down to the gold trim and restless energy. His boots tap an uneven rhythm on the marble floor and his fingers twitch against his thigh.   
  
After answering one another’s security questions (‘ _What’s the name of the pool we went to this summer_?’ and ‘ _How does Nymph like her sandwiches?_ ’), he leads her in to a comfortable, overstuffed loveseat that Narcissa Malfoy would probably burn before allowing inside her house. Sirius casts the standard set of privacy charms, then turns to her with his jaw set in determination. 

“Regulus just asked Ted for permission to court you.”

Lucy’s mind comes to a screeching halt. 

“What?!”

She tries to picture it: Regulus in dark velvet robes, smirking at a red-faced Ted. 

“Dear God, tell me Dumbledore was there to stop Andromeda. She’ll go to prison.”

“ _Everyone_ was there.”

“What...” she trails off thoughtfully.

Regulus, for all of his melodrama, is a secretive person. He isn’t the type to declare undying love in the middle of a party unless he gains something from it. 

“What exactly did he say?” She asks. 

Sirius scowls. “He said it wouldn’t be binding unless you asked and that Ted wouldn’t have to worry about a dowry. Then he pulled out one of mum’s awful rings and said it would do until he takes you to the family vaults to pick out a real courting gift.”

 _Gringotts_!, she realizes, _but why would he need to go through so much trouble?_

Sirius goes on, oblivious to her whirling thoughts. “Dromeda piped in at that point and said that he’d have a better time seducing you with books, but he pointed out that most of the Black jewelry are historical artifacts, which was when Ted finally lost his temper. I’ve never seen him that angry before. Kinda scary. Anyway, when-...Are you even listening to me?!”

“No. I’m trying to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?!” Sirius cries, waving his hands around. 

“Well, he’s getting me into Gringotts of course. I just don’t get why he’s going at this way.”

Sirius gapes. “What do you mean you don’t get it?! He’s a possessive arsehole who wants an excuse to keep you to himself!”

“He can’t keep me to himself if I don’t want him to,” Lucy says, rolling her eyes. “Besides, what do you care? You’re the one stumbling home at dawn.”

“And since when do you care? You’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re only using me for the hor-“

“Sirius!” She hisses.

He blanches at his slip, but quickly draws himself up combatively. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” she chastises. “You know I’m not using you. I’ve never encouraged your flirting, not even when Ted and Andy wanted me to. You made the decision to help me and you didn’t make it just because I’m a pretty girl. You made it because you’re brave and clever and wanted to do the right thing.”

Sirius huffs and glares at the bookshelves. 

“It would never work out between us. You know it’s true, even if you don’t want to admit it, or you would’ve never left me alone this term, especially after the cave. You’re too bloody persistent to give up on something you really want. And you certainly wouldn’t be having one night stands. You’re far too loyal for that. Something else about this has you upset.”

Several moments pass before he sighs and drags his hand over his face. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just..it’s a brother thing, I think.”

Lucy smirks. “I know it is. I just needed you to admit it to yourself.”

Sirius snorts and leans back to peer up at the ceiling. She lets him stew for a little while longer before saying something she probably shouldn’t. 

“He loves you, you know. I think he’d love you a thousand times more than Kreacher if you’d let him.”

In rebuttal, he cuts his gaze to her and asks something that he probably shouldn’t. 

“Will you let him?” 

Lucy traces the elaborate wand holster with her index finger. “I don’t know yet.”

“You’d better figure it out. He’s here.”

Lucy stiffens. Sure enough, Regulus is leaning against the archway, his longs legs crossed at the ankles. Sirius stands and sighs dramatically. 

“That bank of yours opens on the twenty-seventh, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll pick you up that morning. We can grab a greasy breakfast.”

He cancels the privacy charms and stalks off, pausing long enough to incline his head in Regulus’s direction. It’s better than flipping him the bird, at least. 

Lucy replaces the spells with her own as Regulus sits down. He reaches into his pocket before sprawling in the loveseat’s corner, one arm draped over the back and an ankle resting on the opposite knee. Like Sirius, he chose dark red robes, though his are unadorned. Even the suit underneath is plain black.

“Here,” he says, tossing something in her lap. It’s a heavy gold ring adorned with gaudy pearls and rubies. 

“This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” she tells him. 

“It’s eighteenth century, charmed to detect malicious intentions.”

“This is the ugliest useful thing I’ve ever seen,” she amends. 

“We’re set to pick something else out the day after tomorrow. There’s plenty of pretty, useless things lying around in the vault.”

Lucy eyes his ever-present sapphire ring. “And pretty, useful things too, I’d wager. I’ve always wondered what that does.”

“Allows me to see through glamours and charms,” he says, his lips pulling up in a smirk. “And hear through them too.”

“Oh God.” She can feel the heat rising to her face, almost definitely turning her cheeks a humiliating shade crimson. “How much did you hear?”

“All of it.”

She turns to glower at the bookshelves behind them, much like Sirius had done. She likes to think her annoyance is much more effective. It’s highly improbable that Regulus heard everything and he’s hoping to embarrass her into revealing more of it. The bastard. 

“I most certainly would not love you more than Kreacher.”

Fabric rustles, the couch dips, and a warm hand cups her chin. Regulus turns her face to his. He’s close enough for her to smell his cologne, something that reminds her of green apples and mint. 

“You didn’t say no,” he murmurs. 

Lucy glances away, trying to avoid looking into his eyes or at his lips, but he squeezes her chin until she drags her attention back. 

“I won’t push you,” he promises softly, dropping his hand trace the curve of her jaw. “I’ll wait until this is all settled.”

She really, really shouldn’t ask, but there’s that fire in her chest, that nagging voice in the back of her mind, that ever insatiable curiosity that determined her animagus. 

“And then what?” She dares to ask. 

Her breath hitches when Regulus’s thumb swipes at her bottom lip.

“You’ll just have to wait to find out.” 

Immediately, that awful breakfast at the Potter’s comes to mind. The terrifying control he held over the cursed flames, how they seemed as simple an incendio for him. What would it be like to have that unbridled intensity focused on her? Her skin tingles at just the thought of it. 

Regulus stands abruptly and holds out his hand. She takes it almost reflexively. 

“Come, darling,” he says, pulling her up. “Put on that awful ring. We have a part to play.”

The ring shrinks to easily fit her finger. It really is hideous. Whoever designed must have been blind as a bat. Regulus tugs on her other hand gently to pull her along.

“Wait!” She cries. “Shouldn’t we like talk or something?”

He raises a brow. “About what?”

“This,” she says, lifting the hand still intertwined with his.

“What’s there to say?”

“We need a plan! What if someone asks us questions?”

He shrugs. “We tell them the truth, I suppose.”

“What’s the truth?”

“We’re both ridiculously attractive and intelligent people that finally found someone who isn’t discomfited by our amorality.” His stormy eyes sweep over her from head to toe. “You do look particularly stunning tonight, by the way. A work of Violet’s, I presume?” 

Lucy, still reeling from his truth, can only gape. He pulls her out into the party, chattering on about Violet and her business plans. 

At first, people pretend not to stare. As the night goes on, they gawk unabashedly at the new couple. Several men rush forward to wish ‘Mr. Black’ congratulations on his recent courtship. They ignore Lucy for the most part, but she doesn’t really mind. It’s too fun watching Regulus toy with them. Each person retreats quickly with a puzzled expression, not able to work out if they had just been insulted or complimented. Lucy purposefully steers him away from Dumbledore. She’d rather not see what they can get up to together. 

After a tearful goodbye to Ted and Andy, Lucy apparates Regulus into the entryway of her flat. He looks around curiously while she kicks off her heels. It’s probably too big for a girl and her house elf, but it’s what she needed after seven years in a tiny dorm. As wonderful as the place is, not much can be said for late seventies interior design. Most of the furniture was charmed from nauseating greens and depressing oranges to grays and pale purples.

“I’ll pick you up at one on Wednesday,” he finally says. “The crowds don’t start pouring in until lunch and we’ll need an audience.”

She desperately wants to know his plans, but there’ll be no needling it out of him. Growing up with Sirius Black has made him more obstinate than any Gryffindor. 

“Alright,” she concedes. 

He nods. “What are you doing tomorrow?” 

“Sleeping in with Coco, I guess.”

“You should invite Severus over,” he says, sidling closer. “There’s no reason why the two of you should be alone on Christmas Day.”

Lucy staggers back, resolutely ignoring his pleased smirk as he follows her. “I thought about it, but I didn’t think he would come.”

“There’s no harm in asking.”

Her back bumps into the cold wall. The twisting in her stomach worsens and her heart begins fluttering loud enough to echo through the apartment. 

“Alright, I’ll owl him tonight. I finally had to buy one of my own, you know. He’s a fussy little thing. Apparently, his breed is only native to North America so you’ll only find them in a shop.”

Fuck, she’s rambling. It must be all the wine. Yes, that’s a good excuse. She’ll deny, deny, deny until her lips are blue. 

“Really?” He asks, the very picture of smugness. “What did you name him?”

“Oh, that’s not important,” she says, smiling weakly. 

“Oh, I rather think...” His head cocks to the side, then suddenly crouches down at her feet. “Hello there.”

To his left, a pair of large nutmeg-colored ears, one missing a large chunk, peeks out around the gray sofa. Coco tiptoes around after a moment’s hesitation. Today, she’s worn an icy blue tea cozy embroidered with snowflakes. She straightens her skirt before looking Regulus in the eye. 

“Hello, Master Black.”

Regulus’s gaze flicks to the scars on her arms before darting back to her brown eyes. 

“Are you worried for your mistress?” He asks. 

Coco balls her little hands into fists and raises her chin in determination. Lucy swallows down a sob building in her throat. Damn elf-wine. 

“You needn’t be,” he promises.

“Of course not, Coco,” Lucy says, dropping down to her knees. “I would never bring anyone around you that I didn’t trust. Do you...of course you remember, what am I saying? Coco, the potion in the cave-“

“Oh please, Mistress Lucy. Please do not speak of it.”

“I- very well. I’ll only say that it was meant for him and he did it for his house elf.”

“What?” She gasps. 

“Are you sure? Alright. Well, the Dark Lord tested it out on a house-elf named Kreacher. He left Kreacher to die, but he didn’t realize that elves could get through the wards. So Kreacher went home and told Regulus about everything that happened and Regulus....I think it was the last straw for Regulus. He ordered his house elf to take him to the cave, but only Kreacher made it back. So you see, even if I ever made Regulus angry, he would never take it out on you.”

Coco stills. “The dead men got him?”

“I think so,” Lucy says softly. 

Her bulbous eyes swivel to Regulus. Lucy can’t work up the nerve to even peek his way. 

“The dead men got me too,” she whispers, and pulls back the sleeve of her uniform over the shoulder. It’s a perfect smear of human teeth that trails down to her armpit. “Master Sirius was doing bad magic on the Sword of Gryffindor and the dead men was going for him and...” Her long ears fold in on themselves as her voice trails off. 

Regulus slowly reaches over and pulls her sleeve back in place. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you,” he says. 

He flicks his wrist and dagger appears out of nowhere. Lucy nearly falls over in surprise. With a quick swipe, blood pools from a long line on his palm. He extends it to Coco. 

“If you or your bonded are ever in need of help, you may come to me if you wish. “

Tentatively, Coco reaches out and smears his blood onto her own hands. She sniffs it, her thin lips contorting into a frown. 

“You is a dark wizard, Master Regulus. You is doing bad magic like my mistress.”

Suddenly, quick as a viper, she swipes her tongue over the blood. Her round face darkens into something Lucy never thought her capable of. 

“I can always find you now, Master Regulus. There is no hiding place for you.”

With those ominous words, she disappears with a loud crack. 

“That was actually kind of terrifying,” Lucy says. 

In her shock, she’s forgotten all that she’s revealed. It is a mistake. Regulus is studying her intently with an expression that wars between a breathtaking, gentle fondness and an almost feral hunger. The air is knocked out of her lungs. No one has ever looked at her that way. She never thought they would. Potter looks at Evans like that. Andy looks at Ted like that. She never dreamed of having anyone regard her in the same way, to want and cherish her to such a degree. 

“Oh,” she whispers. “I’ve been a fool, haven’t I?”

Regulus surges forward, one hand on her waits and the other tangled in her hair, and crashes his lips to hers. Lucy’s heart jolts to a stop. Fire roars through her veins instead. It floods out from her chest to her fingers and toes. He pulls back and she gasps in a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She reaches out to pull him back. He is so warm and tall and his scent is so intoxicating and all she can think is _there you are, finally_. 

He kisses her harder, bruising her lips and soliciting a stifled moan from deep in her chest. She falls back and he follows, bracing his weight on one hand on the floor. She opens her mouth greedily and drags her nails down the nape of his neck, but his tongue swipes teasingly soft at hers before his teeth latch onto her bottom lip. She gasps. Her nails dig in deeper and she presses her chest against his, desperate for _more, more, more_ -

There’s a gust of cold air and then he’s staring down at her with awe. She falls back on her elbows, hair pooling onto the floor, and eyes him without shame. His lips are more red, his black hair is tousled, and his collar is pulled back, drawing attention to the curve of his neck. She suddenly wants to kiss him there. Taste his skin and drag moans from him. See how long it would take him to lose control. 

“Lucy,” he groans.

She licks her lips, memorizing the feel of him on her. His eyes trace the movement then quickly drop to the swell of her breasts from where her dress has slipped down. She thrusts her chest out without even thinking of it, peering up at him through blonde lashes. 

“Fuck,” Regulus curses, slamming his eyes shut. “I have to go.”

“What?! Where?!”

“Anywhere.”

He clambers up and takes a long step back. Lucy jolts upright to a sitting position. 

“You can’t leave now!” She exclaims. “We just got started!”

Regulus throws his head back and stares at the ceiling, exposing the long line neck. What she wouldn’t give to kiss him from-

“Stop it,” he hisses. 

“But-“

“Lucy, I indulged in too much wine so that I could deal with those cretins tonight. My self-control is obliterated right now.”

At first, she starts to protest, then she remembers something important.

“Right, the ritual,” she murmurs to herself. 

“Ritual?” He asks, brows furrowed. 

“The one with obsidian and the new moon. I haven’t held out for it this long to waste my virginity in a mom-”

“Fucking Merlin!” He snarls, and then disapparates with a loud crack. 

Lucy blinks in surprise, then falls back onto the hard floor. It’s a shame wizards don’t use phones. She’d like nothing more than to call Severus and squeal and tell him she finally kissed Regulus, just to hear how creative his curses would be. Then again, if she tells him in person tomorrow, she might get to learn a new magical curse. 

It’s with a broad, shit eating grin that Lucy sends Lucius off into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it again 😕 this was only supposed to be half a chapter, but it ended up being 4K words even after I cut out 3k! I was hoping to breeze through the party and get back to the action, but things needed to be said and loose ends had to be tied up. The romance will (finally!!!) take a backseat for now. Sure, there’ll be some flirting, but there isn’t a lot of mushy stuff in the outline. That being said, sometimes the characters get a mind of their own when I’m writing. Also, even if there is any major romance, it will fade to black before smut happens. I love smut, but I’m not sure this is the story for it. 
> 
> And because I thought this one would be short, I’ve already written half of the next chapter so it shouldn’t be as long of a wait. 
> 
> Next up: Goblins and politics galore!


	13. The Safest Place in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support! I was blown away!! And an extra thank you to everyone who read the chapter beforehand. If you remind me of your username in the comments, I’ll be sure to give you credit. 
> 
> That being said, I have a made a few word changes and added to the ending, so I take full credit for any mistakes you find.

Andromeda always said that Blacks get what they want. She’d turn a soft glare onto Ted and her eyes would alight with something that Lucy always mistook for mischief. Now, looking up at Regulus, she recognizes it for what it was: triumph.

Regulus wanted a scene and so he got a scene. Diagon Alley is packed full to the cauldron’s brim, as it apparently is every Christmas. Bright, dazzling advertisements boast of post-Christmas sales, cafes and tea shops have their outdoor seating areas charmed to the legal limit, and the sounds of merriment and tipsy carolers are almost deafening. Witches and wizards and hags alike chat about their Christmases or Yules, their upcoming New Years’ celebrations, and all the gossip in the holiday society pages. Somehow, in a bizarre turn of events, Lucy Tonks has made the headlines.

It’s obvious in retrospect. It was bound to happen with the handsome, mysterious heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black shacking up with a mudblood in the middle of a blood war. Still, it’s disconcerting to be scrutinized by half the street and whispered about by the other. When the first flashbulb went off, Regulus had to distract her with a discussion about bottled fiendfyre. (Lucy claimed that if anyone were to make it, it would be Severus; Regulus believes it would be an accidental discovery made by a second or third year.)

“Do you think we could sneak off to Knockturn after we’re done?” Lucy asks as they pass the apothecary. “I’m out of....candle wax.”

Regulus gives her a look. “I’d rather not. It’s only fun if I go to Knockturn in disguise. They’re all too terrified and groveling if they know who I am. You’ll have to wait and find your _candle wax_ some other day.”

“Will they do that with me now?”

“Grovel, yes. Wring their hands and avoid direct eye contact, no.”

“Good. If they’re going to be scared of me, I don’t want it to be because of you.”

Regulus slides his hand down to intertwine their fingers and lifts her arm to kiss her wrist. Across the street, another flashbulb goes off. It’s almost enough to distract her from the embarrassing skip of her heart.

“Darling, I would never dream of obstructing your reign of terror,” he purrs.

Lucy sniffs haughtily. “See that you don’t,” she says and pulls him along.

Gringotts awaits around the corner, looming over them like a marble tomb. More reporters and photographers wait at the foot of the stairs. They rush forward when the first of them catches sight of Lucy and Regulus.

Lucy has to stop herself from fidgeting. When Regulus had apparated into her apartment, he’d taken one lingering look at her pink robes and gray cloak and asked her to change into something menacing. She hesitantly obliged, fearing that he might be one of those men who tried to dictate every aspect of their partners lives. She feels rather foolish looking back on it. He was only trying to help. Her first outfit was comfortable. This one, stark shades of charcoal and red, makes her feel dangerous, like they might cut themselves if they dare try and touch her.

Regulus tugs her along firmly, though his pace slows enough for the reporters to ask their questions. It’s a test. Or perhaps simply his way of giving her a choice.

“Who made your gown for the Longbottom’s party?” A woman calls.

That’s safe enough to answer.

“My friend Violet Brown. The gown and the matching holster.”

“Are you with Black for his money?” The balding man demands.

Lucy doesn’t stumble, but it’s a near thing. If she were, she wouldn’t admit it to him and the bloody paparazzi.

“I’m with him for his library.”

Regulus barks out a laugh, prompting another round of photos and questions.

“Did your estranged cousin introduce you?”

“Is this another of their attempts to sully your family name?”

“How did you meet?”

“I met her in my first year at Hogwarts,” he says, “but I didn’t know I wanted her until my third. There was no need for any introduction. Now, if you’ll excuse us we’ve got an appointment with my account manager.”

“What provoked your interest?”

“Was it a love potion?”

“A spell?”

“Is it true she’s a dark witch?”

Regulus pauses at that, shooting the witch who asked a look so dry that it has her cowering down a step. He makes some sort of signal and two goblins stomp forward, their metal armor clinking with every step. The press immediately comes to a halt. Another armored goblin leads them up the remaining marble stairs and through the massive doors. Inside, Lucy takes a moment to relish in the heat as yet another goblin strolls forward. This one has beady yellow eyes and is dressed smartly in a tailored suit. She notices Regulus shedding his cap, cloak, and gloves and mirrors him, surprised when a house-elf appears to take their belongings.

“This way, Mr. Black,” the goblin says.

They’re taken past the long line of bored customers and down a gilded hallway. Workers dart to and fro, chased by memos, quills, and velvet sacks. The further back they go, the quieter it becomes until they’re led into a tunnel that winds deep underneath the earth. They don’t stop until they come to an intricately carved set of steel doors.

Their attendant places his hand against the engraved axes, triggering them to glow and swing open on silent hinges. “They’ll be with you in a moment, Mr. Black.”

Regulus bows his head. “Thank you, Aglig. Come, Lucy.”

Lucy gives the goblin a solemn nod before stepping inside. The office is nearly as large as her flat. There are numerous suits of armor and display cases full of weapons and shields placed throughout the room. A bar and a chess set are placed under an animated tapestry depicting the execution of several wizards. Against the far wall, stuffed chairs surround a handsome oak desk. Regulus ignores them in favor of a leather sofa across from the roaring hearth. Lucy follows him, examining the elaborate metal figurines on the mantle with interest.

“This is cozy,” she says.

Regulus hums. “I’ve always thought of it as a more tasteful rendition of Slughorn’s quarters.”

“How on earth do you know what Slughorn’s quarters look like?”

She smiles at a framed photo of a stout goblin chasing after his two children. A female goblin beams in the background.

“I’ve had to escort a couple of children as part of my duties.”

“Sounds like a delegation of duties to me,” she teases.

Lucy glances over her shoulder, only to find his attention riveted to her ass. She turns around with her arms crossed.

“Really?” She asks, brow raised.

In lieu of defending himself- because when would he ever lower himself to something so plebeian- he relaxes back into the couch and motions for her to come closer. Lucy shoves down her nerves and approaches him with confident steps, the high heels of her boots muffled by the thick carpet. When his gray eyes begin to rake slowly over her frame, she uncrosses her arms and lets him have his look. She will not be cowed. Andromeda taught her better than that.

“What did you mean out there? About your third year?” She asks.

“I came across you doing a blood ritual when I was exploring the dungeons.”

“That’ll do it then. You would get turned on by animal sacrifice.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I was a fourteen-year-old boy and you were on all fours with your ass up in the air. Magic was the last thing on my mind.”

“Or maybe just a different kind of magic.”

“I’ve been derelict in my duties.” He says, reaching up to tug her down beside him. She’s startled when he wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side. “I should have saved you from my brother and his terrible puns years ago.”

“Sirius and I haven’t even been friends that long. I’ll have you know my horrible puns are all my own. Just wait until you see...”

No, best not reveal her animagus form just yet. If Sirius acted like he did, Regulus will be intolerable. His animagus form would probably be something ferocious like a tiger or a panther, not some 'furry woodland creature’, as Sirius described Lucy’s.

“Until I see what?”

“The press won’t always be like that, will it? It’s just because of the betrothal?”

“Yes,” he says, in a great display of mercy. “There’s always a lapse in the news during the holidays. It’s why I proposed at a Yule ball. They’ll have something else to report after New Year’s and after that actual celebrities will make their appearances again. We’ll be forgotten about for a couple of years or until something particularly interesting happens.”

Suddenly, a portrait of a snarling goblin slides into its golden frame. A stout goblin in glasses and a burgundy suit enters the room, his sharp eyes immediately cataloging Lucy’s appearance and how she’s snuggled up to Regulus. That explains that then. Their relationship must be crucial to whatever it is they have to do to get the horcrux.

A low, grating sound comes from Regulus as she disentangles herself from him. She nearly jumps out of her bones when the same noise comes from the goblin.

“Why am I surprised you speak Gobbledegook?” She mutters petulantly.

“Oh, I read it more than I speak it.”

The goblin scoffs as he stalks closer. “He does not fool us. We are well aware of how fluent he is.” Lucy stands to shake his hand. It’s warm and his claws scrape against her sleeve. “I am Urguff, the Black account manager.”

“Nice to meet you.”

He hums, his thin lips pulling back over sharp, yellow teeth. “We will see if the sentiment is returned.”

A snap of his fingers and three thick scrolls float in the air beside them, each with a different colored seal.

“Itemized lists of jewelry stored in the Black vaults. Yellow is enchanted, green is cursed, and blue is neither.”

Lucy snatches the scroll with the green seal, settling into the far end of the couch as Regulus and his banker speak. The handwriting is cramped and spidery, rendering it almost impossible to read. She doesn’t let that stop her, not when new magic is just waiting to be discovered. She recognizes some of the curses from her previous studies. It’s the pieces that have been soaked in some terrible potion that catch her interest. Like a ruby bracelet that dissolves the wearer’s finger bones over time. The logistics behind it are fascinating. Is it a slow release? Is it a nearly undetectable liquid or a gas? How does the poison travel to the bones directly? How does it limit itself to the fingers? Is the thumb included?

Her rumination is interrupted when the portrait slides open again and four more goblins appear, two of them carrying axes and armored in silver. One goblin, this one with a yellow tinge to his skin, has a crooked nose and is dressed in a set of gilded goblin robes she’s only ever seen in history books. The other could pass for any other muggleborn wizard on the street, down to the briefcase in his hand. Both of them wear swords on their hips.

With mounting horror, Lucy is introduced to Ullok, the Goblin King’s representative and one she is already familiar with.

“You’re Brodirg,” she supplies, shaking his hand firmly. “Spokesman for the Brotherhood of Goblins. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Brodirg raises a bushy black brow. “You follow our organization?”

“I try to stick to your opinion pieces,” she says. “We all know how accurate the Prophet is, especially when it comes to anything other than pureblood wizards.”

Ullok's pointy face contorts into an ugly sneer. “Is that so, witch? You think you understand the plight of non-humans?”

“I’m told twice a week that I’m no better than an animal,” she answers calmly, “but I always have the option of disappearing into the muggle world. You do not.”

She wants nothing more than to peek over at Regulus, but knows to do so would portray weakness. She can’t be seen as reliant on him. They are to be equals, not master and servant. Instead, she patiently waits for Ullok’s answer. After a moment’s consideration, he gives her a terse nod and summons the last of the padded chairs from the desk. Lucy sits as far away from Regulus on the sofa as she can without raising suspicion.

“I suppose we’re not just here to pick out a ring?” Lucy asks nervously. 

It’s Urguff that answers. “You are here for that, yes, but not that alone. What do you know of the Black family’s relationship with Gringotts?”

Lucy licks her lips, thankful for the resilience of wizarding lipstick. “Regulus speaks Gobbledegook, apparently, and they help feed your dragons from time to time.”

The king’s representative chuckles darkly.

“Oh, they do more than that,” he says. “I assume that blasted ghost taught you about the goblin rebellions?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“I assume that you are intelligent enough to infer that goblins had the support of wizards throughout the rebellions?”

“Yes,” Lucy snaps. “And I’m intelligent enough to infer that apparently, the House of Black was one of those supporters.”

Brodirg clears his throat. “After the last rebellion, the alliance between the Goblin Nation and the House of Black fell through, though they and the other supporters have had a close working relationship with Gringotts in the centuries since.”

“Until Regulus picked it back up?” She asks, frowning over at him. “How is that even possible? You’re only seventeen. There are limitations to what even you can do.”

He smiles that feral, wolfish grin of his. “As flattered as I am, I can’t take credit. It was my grandfather. He recognized the signs of a rising dark lord and thought it prudent to negotiate a new alliance. I, however, pressured my father to take it further.”

Lucy stares. She stares at him and then the goblins and then back at him. After a long moment, she decides to throw propriety out the window.

“Since when do you give a shit about goblin rights?”

One of the goblins, she can’t be bothered to see which, howls with raspy laughter.

“Since I began sneaking out to Muggle London.” He relaxes back into the sofa, crossing his ankle over the opposite knee. “I've been sneaking out since I was twelve. It became even easier when Sirius left; he would always get bored and come to annoy me for entertainment. The truth is that I don't dislike or like Muggles any more than I like or dislike wizards or goblins. They're just people is all."

"I'm sensing a but here."

Regulus leans forward, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling light. "But I respect them more! They've progressed more than we have in generations! Their science is just as wondrous as our magic. They've gone to the moon, Lucy! The bloody moon! They're capable of far more than fools like Bellatrix or Malfoy are aware. They'll easily surpass us in the next fifty years or so. You and I are safe, but what about future generations? All it will take is another world war before they wipe entire continents off the map."

Lucy wants to glance at the goblins and see their reaction to his fervent rant, but she is trapped under his intense gaze. Regulus has an intoxicating sort of charisma that keeps the listener wondering what he will say next, half afraid if his excitement will bubble over into something more fearsome.

"Soooo you want to pull a Grindelwald with the goblins?"

"Of course not. Not until it proves necessary."

Lucy's eyebrows raise. "Not until it proves necessary?"

"It's only a matter of time until the magical world is discovered. If we magical beings aren't united, we will be obliterated. I don't want to 'pull a Grindelwald'. Or a Hitler, for that matter." He grins maniacally at whatever he sees in her expression. "I only want to be prepared for the inevitable."

Lucy settles her gaze on the three goblins. They stare back dispassionately.

"And you're okay with him exploiting your struggle for equal rights?" she asks.

"Is he, Miss Tonks?" Ullok sneers, "or are we using him to exploit the wizards' xenophobia?"

Lucy crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. After a moment of failing to discern something, anything from their blank expressions, she sighs. “And who's banner will we be unifying under? Surely not yours, Regulus?”

“Merlin, no,” he scoffs.

“We have our eye on a few half-bloods,” Brodirg supplies. He says it like he’s talking about his favorite dinner.

“Of course. A mudblood minister is far too progressive,” Lucy says bitterly.

Regulus cocks a brow. “I’ve never aspired to be a minister’s husband, but I’m not averse to the idea.”

“Do you have political ambitions, Ms. Tonks?” Urguff asks, his head tilted in calculation.

“Absolutely not. I want to kill Voldemort and then go on a long vacation somewhere warm.”

“There are Black properties in Spain, Greece, and Croatia,” the banker recites promptly. “There is another outside Florence, but anyone bearing the Black name is legally required to stay within the wards.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten about that,” Regulus says with a wistful smile.

Lucy thinks very hard before eventually deciding that it's best to leave that tidbit of information for later. She nods shortly, bolstering herself for the conversation ahead.

“Right, well, not to be rude-“ She steadfastly ignores Regulus’s amused snort. “-but I’m still recovering from a nasty round of torture and overexposure to Gryffindors. I’d very much like to take a nap. So what happens next in your plans? Do the goblins pave the way for others? Werewolves and the like?”

“Precisely,” Brodirg affirms. The other two nod fiercely in agreement.

“You do realize that we can’t take down the Ministry, or take it over or whatever until Voldemort is defeated?”

As soon as she says it, she realizes what Regulus means to do. Or orchestrate, at the very least.

“She’s quick,” Urguff grunts as he appraises the abrupt comprehension in her expression.

Regulus huffs. “Of course she’s quick. She’s mine isn’t she?”

Any other time, Lucy might have had several things to say about such a sentiment, but she suspects that their relationship is just as much of a show for the goblins as it is for the public. The family accountant is a bit too fixed on her ambitions and attributes.

“A dark wizard has to strike the killing blow,” she says.

“Someone not loyal to the Ministry or Dumbledore,” he corrects.

Lucy forces the rising whirlwind of her thoughts to calm. She shoves them deep in a distant corner of her mind to be extracted for examination later. Much later. Weeks later, if she’s lucky. One of them, however, is annoyingly persistent. She can’t quite keep from blurting it out.

“Goblins aren’t loyal to the Ministry or Dumbledore.”

Three beady sets of goblin eyes pin her to her seat. It is a much different experience than it had been with Regulus a short time ago. His intensity was exhilarating, fascinating, and if she were, to be honest with herself, arousing. The goblins seem to flay her down to her bones without lifting a finger.

Ullock flashes a set of sharp brown teeth. “And why shouldn’t we let you tear yourselves apart?”

“Because if he wins, he’ll kill all you too. He’s mad and it’s just going to get worse the longer he goes unchecked. What fragile plans he has left will disintegrate into chaos, where only the insane and the very cruel will survive.”

“You speak as if you know this for a fact,” Urguff muses. “Regulus has hinted at why he agreed to marry you without a dowry, but as his financial manager, I cannot fully endorse such a one-sided agreement.

Lucy glances at Regulus. Is this supposed to be a segue into horcuxes? Are they trustworthy enough?

“She’s a seer,” he announces calmly.

Lucy freezes. The goblins freeze. As one, their unnerving gazes swivel back to her, peeling her apart with renewed interest. Regulus begins explaining. She latches onto his smooth, melodic voice to center herself against her panic. Cold sweat, short breath, bright colors. She clenches her fists to keep from gripping her wand.

The goblins begin asking questions, their raspy voices grating on her ears. Regulus smoothly interjects, probably with the most ridiculous bullshit, anyone's ever heard. Lucy bites down on her bile. She thought if she had to reveal it to anyone, it would be Dumbledore, not Regulus fucking Black and his goblin friends. She can’t lie when it might affect the civil rights of an entire people. A people who's magic could probably detect that she isn't, in fact, a seer and slaughter her where she stands for lying to their faces.

It’s that image, one of her brains oozing out of a dent in her skull that has her blurting, "I'm not a seer.”

The room quietens. Regulus stills like a wolf that's caught a scent. Coward that she is, Lucy avoids their eyes and speaks to the axe displayed on the cavern wall.

"I'm not a seer. I’m from the future. I died in 2018 and woke up in 1966."

The silence drags on long enough for something like spiders to scuttle down her neck. Slowly, so very hesitantly, she makes herself look at Regulus. Her breath catches despite her attempted stoicism. He's looking at her with a reverent, adoring gaze that she's never, not ever in either life, had anyone direct her way. Lucy quickly averts her attention to the goblins. Coward, Sirius’s voice whispers.

"I'm sorry if this is a disappointment-" she tries, but Ullock interrupts her with his sharp teeth on display.

"A disappointment? No, no, Miss Tonks. This is infinitely better."

Brodirg grunts in agreement. "Much more substantial than any seer could be."

"You were American, weren't you?" Regulus asks suddenly.

"...yes?"

He nods to himself. "That explains so much."

Lucy looks to the goblins, sure they're just as confused, but they're too busy examining her like she's a very interesting worm they've found deep in the gold mines. She shifts in her chair nervously.

"You know the course of this foolish war, then?" Ullock demands.

"Yes. It drags on for a while, Voldemort is eventually defeated, and then it all goes back to how it was."

"How dreadfully uninspired," Regulus drawls.

"So the goblins were not involved?" Brodirg asks.

"Oh, they were involved alright." She straightens her spine, throws her shoulders back, and tips her chin in the air. "Voldemort's got a horcrux in the Lestrange vault. There was a straight-up massacre when it was stolen."

Sure, it was a massacre at Malfoy Manor, and there were probably only one or two goblins, but such details are inconsequential.

Ullock stands and leans over the desk threateningly. "You lie, witch. Gringotts has never and will never succumb to thieves!"

"They had inside help," Lucy says, undeterred.

He sneers a truly frightening image that alarms Lucy nearly as much as Voldemort did.

“One of us would never betray-“

“Not even for the sword of Gryffindor?” She asks.

At that, the goblins fall silent.

“There’s a boy,” she begins. “A boy who was hunting horcruxes and came across a strange group of people on the run from Voldemort: two goblins, two muggleborn wizards, and the boy’s schoolmate. One of the goblins is murdered alongside the wizards by Fenrir Greyback. The other and the boy’s schoolmate are taken prisoner to Malfoy Manor. The boy rescues them, but he soon figures out where the next horcrux is and makes a deal. Entry to the Lestrange vault in exchange for the Sword of Gryffindor. The goblin took the deal.”

“Did he get the Sword?” Brodirg asks quietly.

“Not for long.” She plows on, ignoring their dark looks. “The Sword of Gryffindor is enchanted to return to a worthy Gryffindor in need. It came to Neville Longbottom during the Battle of Hogwarts and he used it to slay the Dark Lord’s familiar, whom happened to be the last horcrux. I don’t know what happened to it after that. And it doesn’t really matter. Regulus and I are a Slytherin as they come. It will never come to us.”

The goblins take a long moment to consider her words. Eventually, one of them asks how the bank was infiltrated.

“One of the Deathly Hallows,” she says, amused at their ensuing shock, “Polyjuice Potion, and a liberal use of the Imperius Curse by a very powerful wizard. They had to free the dragon to escape, so it was really only dumb luck that they succeeded. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to prevent any of that, except perhaps a Polyjuice test of some kind as we walk through the doors. Or when we sit in the cart perhaps, that usually results in direct skin contact. Some type of runic array would be your best bet.”

“You want the horcrux and help in the war,” Ullock says in a rather rude tone. “What can you offer in recompense?”

“We’ll take the horcrux and neutrality,” Regulus counters, “and in return, we’ll keep Dumbledore from finding out that you’re harboring a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul.”

One of the armored goblins shifts, the first movement either of them has made, and Brodirg grinds his teeth.

“You would undo the work of your father and his father before him? You would betray us so?” Ullock demands, his fist clenched.

“I will do what is necessary to protect myself and my family,” Regulus says with a strange tenor in his voice.

For the first time since she’s known him, he lets his magic free. Or maybe it slips free. It’s thick, heady, almost suffocating in its darkness. It is the starless night sky pressing down, down, down. Inescapable. Inevitable. It slips under her skin, filling her up like thick black honey. Her own magic rises up to greet it, swirling around like snow dancing in the wind, glitter sparkling in glue. She tries to force it back down but it refuses, eager to explore the darkness.

She always was too curious for her own good.

“Voldemort is a plague against magic,” he’s saying, completely oblivious to Lucy’s plight. “He must be eradicated. Grindelwald at least had plans and laws. Voldemort has none of that. He is nothing but violence and chaos. He wants nothing more than to rule over-“

“Regulus,” Lucy chokes out.

Regulus turns to her, his eyes widening. She is floored to her seat, pupils blown and limbs locked. Power is flooding her bones, wrapping its fingers around her throat and her heart, demanding entry inside.

Abruptly, it disappears. Air floods back into her lungs and something in her chest unclenches. Across from her, the goblins slump over in their chairs. The warriors at their back relax into their previous impassiveness. In her struggle, she hadn’t noticed them move.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Forgive me. I am well aware you were not threatening me. I’ve simply found myself overprotective of late.”

Heat rises to Lucy's cheeks as all of the goblins turned to her.

“Then might I suggest this ring?” Urguff says, unfurling the yellow scroll with a flick of his wrist. A small black arrow points to item number four hundred and thirteen. “Silver inlaid with pear alexandrite and black diamonds. Enchanted in the year 1208 to act as a primitive portkey. A person tied to the ring may be called to the wearer’s side with a tap of her wand.”

Lucy fingers the ruby and pearl monstrosity she’s already wearing. “Is it very large?”

The goblin glances at her hand and snorts. “No, Miss Tonks. It is a much more tasteful design. Here.”

He retrieves a small wooden box from his trouser pocket and taps his claw to the seam. Satisfied, he levitates it over to her. Lucy is surprised to see that the goblin was right. There is only one large gem in the center that changes colors in the light surrounded by smaller black ones arranged in swooping lines. It’s still a bit too ostentatious for her liking, but the enchantment is worth it and the atmosphere in the room has become stifling. She’s ready to go home.

“I’ll take it,” she says, already switching them out.

Regulus snorts. “Do you realize how much that gem alone is worth?”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “I really don’t care. I’m tired and it’s been a long day. Why don’t we call it quits for now and reconvene at a later date? I’m sure Ullock and Brodirg would like to discuss everything with their superiors, correct?”

Brodirg inclines his head respectfully.

“Indeed, Miss Tonks.”

“See?” She says. “We all go have lunch and take a nap and Regulus can go blast fiendfyre on some Scottish island to cool down.”

Regulus sighs, but he stands nonetheless. The house-elf suddenly reappears with their layers of clothing. He takes them and shakes his head when Lucy begins to pull on her gloves.

“I’ll apparate us directly to your living room.” He cuts a glance at the goblins. “If that’s alright with you, Urguff?”

“Of course.”

Regulus nods. “Then I hope to hear from you soon. Good day, gentlemen.”

“It was nice meeting you all,” Lucy says.

After everyone’s said their goodbyes, Regulus leads her to a slab of dark rock engraved with runes. A quick translation reveals it to be a sort of apparition point, a sort of break in the anti-apparition wards.

“Boy,” Ullock calls.

Regulus looks up sharply.

“Fiendfyre will not placate the power inside you,” he warns. “It needs blood. Your magic needs to feel life bleed out from under your wand.”

Lucy squeezes Regulus’s hand tight as he nods.

“I know,” he says, very softly.

And with that, he spins on the spot, dragging Lucy along through space until they land on a wooden floor. She looks around, puzzled. This is not her living room. It’s not even her apartment. They’ve arrived in a green and silver bedroom filled with heavy walnut furniture and almost overflowing with books.

“REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK!”

“Oh, shite,” Regulus breathes.

Lucy turns, inappropriately curious, but Regulus has placed his body between her and the speaker.

“REGULUS! I LEAVE FOR TEA ONLY TO FIND HUMILIATION! I EXPECTED THIS FROM THE STAIN OF WHOM WE DO NOT SPEAK BUT NEVER FROM YOU. YOU PROMISED, REGULUS. YOU PROMISED THAT YOU WOULD-“

Lucy peeks around Regulus's arm. A tall woman with an austere bearing and long dark hair stands in the doorway. She might have been beautiful if her face weren't contorted into such a dark rage.

“I never promised anything except to speak with you." He hesitates, his breath hitching before he steps to the side. “Mother, I'd like you to meet my betrothed."

Lucy has faced the Dark Lord. She's lied to Dumbledore’s face and endured years of scrutiny from Lucius Malfoy. She can handle Walburga Black.

“Hello, Mrs. Black,” she says, extending her hand. “Lucille Tonks, Mudblood of Slytherin. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Walburga Black turns a dangerous shade of purple, her hand gripping tightaround her dark wand. Regulus raises a glowing shield at the very same moment that an eerie purple curse hurls toward Lucy.

“Mother, I’ve had a very trying day. I never would have brought Lucy if I thought you were here, but I wanted to relax in my home. Can’t you please let me? Please?”

Silence reigns for what feel like an eternity. Regulus twitches when Walburga finally breaks it with a shrill, “KREACHER!”

An ugly, stooped house elf appears with his sharp nose near to the ground in worship. Lucy doesn’t realize she’s taken a step forward until Regulus wraps his hand around her arm. No one else has made her as curious as Kreacher does. Well, maybe Voldemort, but she was too terrified to indulge in any of her wonder. This is different. Kreacher is everything to Regulus. There’s something more marvelous about that than any magic Voldemort can do. 

“Yes, Mistress?” He croaks.

“Fetch me a calming draught,” she snaps. After a withering look at Lucy, she concedes, “And serve black tea with the Hatian rum.”

Regulus lets out a long, deep breath when his mother marches down the hall. Lucy grabs his hand and sidles close enough to press against his arm, her head barely surpassing his shoulder in her heels. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I only wanted...She was supposed to spend the day with Cordelia Greengrass.”

“It’s alright. We had to meet eventually.”

He looks away, running his tongue along his teeth. “Yes, but not today. Not with everything else. I do like you, you know. I don’t want to scare you off.”

“Regulus.” When he ignores her, Lucy reaches up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Regulus, I think it’s a little too late for that, don’t you?”

“Sirius ran away,” he whispers, his gaze haunted.

Lucy’s stomach twists. She wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing as tight as she can, trying her best to convey everything she’s too afraid to say. They stand wrapped up in each other for a long while, content to revel in the silence after their long day. Eventually, Lucy pulls back and stretches to press a light kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I promise I won’t run away until I’ve read at least half of your library.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Liberal use of the imperious curse by a very powerful wizard” - I’ve always thought that Harry never knew his own power (I mean his patronus warded off a hundred dementors when he was only thirteen); he just never cared about things like that. But that’s neither here nor there in this fic. Though I would like to hear your opinions on Harry! 
> 
> I have a plot bunny for a triad fic: Sirius/Remus/OFC. The OC is a legitimate seer, not a self-insert. She’s from a lower class pureblood family that lives above their apothecary shop in Knockturn. It would make Knockturn and Diagon neighborhoods/boroughs instead of streets and explore and expand on divination, including seedier methods of finding answers. I THINK I would cover a little bit of the first war then jump to Sirius’s escape, at which point the romance would begin. Would there be an interest in that kind of fic? I don’t want to seriously get into it unless it would have an audience.
> 
> Next up: tea, grandfathers, a duel, and vampires.


	14. Meet the Blacks

Walburga Black’s personal solar is a round room edged with silver and furnished with the same dark wood as the rest of the house. Regulus leads Lucy to the circular table laden with a tea set in the center of the room. His mother is already perched in her chair, her rage having subsided into an artificial serenity. It smooths out the harsh planes of her face into something that hints at beauty. 

“Hello, Mother.”

“Hello, Regulus.” She takes a long sip of tea before she bites out, “Girl.”

Lucy takes a drink of her own, unsurprised and a little relieved to taste more rum than tea. 

“Hello, Mrs. Black. I’m glad to finally meet Regulus’s mother.”

Her face scrunches up in distaste. 

“Mother-“

“No, Regulus,” Lucy interrupts. “This needs to happen.” 

Lucy sits up straight in her chair and catches Walburga’s gaze. Holds it. Dares her to look away. 

“Whatever bigoted nonsense you think you can hurt me with is nothing I haven’t heard before. Whatever spells you think you can cast on me is nothing I haven’t endured before. It’ll be more productive and easier for all of us if we skip the insults and threats.”

Walburga’s jaw clenches. It’s the only tell before a honed spear explodes against Lucy’s mind. She hides a smile behind her teacup. Sirius is his mother’s son; there’s not a bone of subtlety in either of their bodies. 

“I’ve kept my secrets from the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, Mrs. Black. You’re not going to get anything from me that way.”

She lets out a strange noise that is half scoff and half shriek. “You can’t expect me to believe such-“

“I was there, Mother,” Regulus cuts in. He’s forgone the tea and went straight to the rum. Lucy wonders if it would be too gauche to do the same. “I watched it happen.”

Walburga slams her teacup down in rattle of porcelain. 

“Why, Regulus? Why?! We taught you better than this! We taught you to respect and uphold your ancient bloodline. I expected this from Sirius, but never you. You were always the better son.”

Lucy reaches over and snatches Regulus’s tumbler of rum. She’ll need more than tiny sips of liquor to keep her mouth shut. Sirius may be brash and mercurial and careless, but he is unfathomably loyal to those who earn it. When she asked Sirius for help, he gave it unconditionally. Perhaps she should say something. Perhaps she should defend him. 

It wouldn’t accomplish anything. Walburga wouldn't take kindly to the reminder and Regulus, for all his haughtiness, still harbors deep feelings towards his brother. It’s a shame, really. The could accomplish great things together. 

_‘Terrible yes, but great.’_

The heavy slap of flesh on wood jolts Lucy out of her thoughts. Walburga seems to hav reached a stage of apoplectic fury. She’s gone deathly pale, there’s a muscle twitching in her jaw, and her hand keeps making aborted movements towards her wand. Lucy really shouldn’t have let her mind wander; she’s just so very, very tired. 

“What are you sneering at, you foul little mudblood?!”

‘ _How great the House you worship could have been if you hadn’t pushed your sons apart,_ ’ Lucy thinks. 

Aloud, she says, “I find it very amusing that you think you know better than the Dark Lord.”

She stills, her palms still flat against the table. 

“What.”

Regulus shifts in his seat, none too pleased to relive the memory. It feels like it happened so long ago, but it hasn’t even been a week. Jesus. No wonder she’s so tired. She hasn’t had the chance to recover from everything that’s happened.

“I’ve already told you I was there,” he says hesitantly. “It was at the Malfoy’s ball. I followed Lucy into the library, hoping to have a private word, but he followed her too. He recruited her, Mother. Personally.” Regulus swallows thickly. “Do you know how rare it is to earn his direct praise?” 

Lucy isn’t sure who’s he asking: Walburga, Lucy, or himself. She isn’t sure he knows. 

Walburga doesn’t seem to care either way. She pulls back in her seat, elegant hand splayed against her throat in shock. 

“But she’s-she’s a _mudblood_!”

“She’s a formidable witch, Mother. The ladies of the House of Black have always been formidable.”

“That’s a bold claim, boy.”

Regulus freezes. He sucks in a breath and his shoulders snap back. Across the table, Walburga’s lips turn up in small, smug smile. Two sets of heavy footsteps, one punctuated by the thud of a cane, sound at Lucy’s back. Out of the corner of her eye, Regulus shifts his head ever so slightly. A silent command to be still. 

An old man with dark eyes and thick grey hair reaches the table first. The second is even older, yet no less dangerous. There is a strength in his posture that defies the limp in his left leg and the simple cane in his hand. With a tap of that cane, two leather chairs materialize between Lucy and Walburga. The men take their seats with a calm, almost mockingly nonchalant air. Both of them are dressed simply yet richly, as Regulus always does. Sirius must have picked up his extravagance from his Uncle Alphie or in an attempt to further distance himself from his family. Almost admirably petty, that. If there was anything he shouldn’t be ashamed of, it should be their fashion sense. 

Kreacher, god bless him, appears long enough to vanish the tea set and conjure bourbon and glasses in their stead.

“Lucy,” Regulus says, never looking away from the men. “These are my grandfathers, Arcturus and Pollux.”

Lucy has to take a drink of bourbon to hide her disgust. It’s a good thing they have magic or they’d be as hideous as the Hapsburgs. 

“This is Lucille Tonks, my-“

“We know what she is,” Pollux, the younger, thinner one snaps. 

Regulus grits his teeth, turning flinty eyes onto his mother. 

“Did you summon them?”

“Of course I did!” She whisper-screams. “You brought a mudblood into this house! What else was I supposed to do?!”

“You were supposed to wait and speak with the head of your family,” Arcturus snaps. He looks remarkably like Sirius, from the straight slope of his nose to his broad shoulders. Even their voices are similar.

Walburga winces. Lucy wonders if it’s because of his uncanny resemblance or harsh tone. 

“Regulus is just a boy-“

“Regulus hasn’t been a boy since before Sirius Orion fled like a coward. I trust his judgement and so should you.”

“We do not speak-“

Regulus sighs heavily. “You said his name yourself not five minutes ago, Mother.”

“What do you think about it, girl?” Pollux cuts in. 

Lucy takes a dainty sip of her drink. “I’m just a filthy little mudblood. I don’t see how my opinion matters.”

“I believe it was a _foul_ little mudblood,” Regulus intones dully. 

“Ah. They do blend together. It’s rare that I get one creative enough to remember.”

“You DARE-“

“Merlin, Walburga! Don’t start your damn screeching!” Arcturus thunders. He downs his glass of bourbon, refills it, then rounds on Lucy. She has to fight not to flinch back. 

“Well?!” He demands, one perfectly groomed brow cocked. “What do you think about it? Should we erase Sirius Orion’s name from our memories?”

Lucy’s mind starts whirling. The old families have a plethora of magic that most witches and wizards couldn’t even dream of. Certainly not Lucy. Severus has always been the more creative of the two. And if it keeps them off Sirius’s back, who is she to keep silent?

“Can you do that? Is it even possible? There are taboos of course, but can you erase a name from all existence? What happens to the person or place? Does it also cease to exist? There’s a tribe in Africa that sees more shades of blue because they have so many words for the color.”

Pollux studies her with the same expression Voldemort had. Like she’s some delightful new creature that he will get credit for discovering.

“You’re good, aren’t you?” Arcturus asks. She can’t discern his mood. It’s unsettling to see Sirius’s face so cold and unfeeling. “Deflection. Distraction. Leave the lies for last. Go on, girl. Tell me a lie.”

Lucy does not balk or hesitate. She looks him dead in the eye and says, “It’s none of my business what you do about Sirius. Everyone thinks we’re great friends, but the simple truth is that he moved in with Andromeda for a summer. I respect him, yes, but I am not his priority nor is he mine.”

“And Regulus? Is he your priority?”

“No. That honor belongs to one Severus Snape.”

Arcturus settles back in his chair and looks down at her over his nose. Sirius’s nose. For one wild moment, she wonders if this is just another one of his pranks and Potter is sitting beside him under polyjuice. 

“The last one was a bad lie,” he says. “Your family is too well known for anyone to believe that your niece is not your priority. It would have been wiser to tell the truth.”

“Sometimes,” Lucy concedes with a nod. “But not this particular instance. I reasoned that it was best to avoid any mention of her. She’s a delicate subject.”

“Oh come now,” Pollux chastises. “We’re more tetchy about Sirius’s cowardice than her whelp.”

“That’s not what she meant,” Regulus drawls.

Arcturus leans forward in his chair. “Then what did she mean, son?”

“When Gawain Yaxley was murdered, he didn’t bother looking to Lucille for help.” He tips his chin up arrogantly. “They couldn’t even look her in the eye when she was done with him.”

Arcturus and Pollux share a loaded glance. While they work through their centuries worth of bigotry, Lucy prepares herself for an attack from Walburga. Yet when she peers across the table, she sees that Walburga’s mouth has been vanished entirely. Lucy immediately casts her gaze to a portrait of a curious old woman and clamps her teeth down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to bring blood. 

“Does something amuse you?” Pollux asks in that strange, oily voice of his. 

She lifts her shoulders in a tiny shrug, not daring to look away from the portrait. 

“It’s just that I have to use that particular curse against Sirius quite frequently. As much as you both like to deny his heritage, he truly is his mother’s son.”

Walburga’s chair slams back onto the ground as she surges to her feet. The portraits rattle against the wall and the numerous artifacts around the room begin to hum ominously. Pollux Black whips out his wand, eyeing a glass case full of crystal raven figurines warily. 

Lucy scoffs. “Come now, you’ll have to do better than that. I’ve just had Regulus’s magic try to smother me from the inside out and the Dark Lord’s was slicing at my bones not a week ago. Which reminds me.”

Just to stoke the fire, Lucy takes Regulus’s hand in her own and gently peels back his sleeve. His watch reads a quarter after five. It must have been inherited from his father, because there’s no other reason for him to wear the Canis Major anywhere on his body. There are two constellations embedded on the bezel and a specific star in each of them done in diamonds: the Dog Star and the Lion’s Heart. Lucy keeps her expression carefully blank as she releases his hand.

It takes her a moment to find what she needs in her expanded purse. Regulus makes a soft huff of amusement when a cauldron clatters in its cavernous depths. Finally, she finds one vial and begins her hunt for the next two. He holds it up to the light. 

“You’re still taking these?” He asks in a soft tone. 

“It was only four days ago,” she points out petulantly, “and I’ve had a very busy week. I’m rather proud of myself. Aha! Found them.”

“What was only four days ago?” Arcturus demands. 

“‘Lord Voldemort is charitable’,” Lucy recites, throwing back the first two. “He gave me a parting gift. A little hint at what I can expect no matter which side I choose.”

“Why is that the Dark Lord is so interested in you? Other than the obvious parallels.”

Lucy chokes on the last elixir. 

“What parallels?!”

To her surprise, it is Walburga that answers. She can’t bring herself to directly speak with Lucy. Instead, she keeps her gaze pinned on a spot just above her shoulder. 

“I attended Hogwarts with the Dark Lord. He was only a year below me. In the beginning, we thought him nothing more than a orphaned mudblood and treated him as such.”

“One commonality doesn’t make a parallel!” Lucy argues. “I grew up in a loving family with a rather comfortable income. I’m not particularly powerful. I don’t have a legendary ancestor. I’m an ant to a god when it comes to the Dark Lord.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate yourself, love,” Regulus says, brush his fingers against her wrist. “Dumbledore and the Dark Lord have both seen it. They’ve both spoken of it.”

“What was it the Dark Lord said?” Pollux asks curiously. 

“That she did not disappoint. That she is more cunning and ambitious than we are capable of. That only he can understand her love for magic.” He frowns into his glass of bourbon thoughtfully. “I’m inclined to agree. Even those who worship magic as I do cannot truly revere it in the same way as Lucille and the Dark Lord. Not even Dumbledore can.”

Lucy nods, more to herself than anyone. “He never asked why I study the things I do. He just assumed it was for power and bloodlust. And some of it was, of course, but most of it was just wanting to know what magic really is. What it can really do.”

“And what have you discovered?” Pollux asks. 

“There at no limits, if one is willing.”

Arcturus settles back in his seat, appraising Lucy. “There are Gamp’s Laws.”

Lucy waves her hand impatiently. “Yeah, but when would you ever really need to create something out of nothing? Outside of academia, the only time it’s applicable is if you were starving and even then there are other ways.”

“What ways?”

“The switching and summoning spells are the most obvious. And stealing is remarkably easy with magic, especially in muggle areas. It’s as simple as an imperius curse.”

Regulus reaches over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. He is close enough that his warm breath raises tickles her neck. 

“I adore that your first response is an Unforgivable when there are a plethora of other spells to choose from.”

Lucy sniffs haughtily to disguise her nerves. She hates feeling like a silly little first year fresh off the Express. 

“If I’m ever in a situation that desperate, I’m not going to waste time and resources getting out of it just because it isn’t the right thing to do. I don’t know them. I’m not risking my life for someone I don’t care about. ”

“Would it matter if you did?” Regulus proposes, his lips pulling up in knowing smirk.

“Don’t look so smug. It’s unbecoming for a wizard of your station.”

“ENOUGH!”

Lucy jumps. She feels more than sees the curse. The only thing she can process is relief- it’s neon red, and the cruciatus might hurt like hell but it won’t kill her- before the tray of sandwiches upends itself to intercept the curse. She scrambles out of her seat and draws her wand at the same time Regulus conjures a shield in the shape of a silver spiderweb. 

“Stop this, Mother! You’re-“

“NO! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU MAKING EYES AT SUCH A BEASTLY SLUT. SHE’S NO BETTER THAN FUCKING AN ANIMAL, REGULUS! IT TURNS MY STOMACH TO BREAK BREAD WITH-“

 _Oh, fuck this_ , Lucy thinks, and jabs her wand at the madwoman screeching across the table. Enraged as she is, Walburga doesn’t realize Lucy has retaliated until her wand is flying through the air. Another thrust and her mouth has once again vanished from her face.

“Yeah, well, it makes me sick to even fucking look at you, but you haven’t heard me complain, have you?”

Walburga flicks her wrist and a dagger materializes in her hand. It’s a neat trick, one that Bellatrix and Narcissa have undoubtedly perfected as well. The blade hurdles through the air, tip over handle. Lucy scrambles to the side and erects a shield she helped create with Severus. Walburga’s sneer drops when the dagger bounces off the shimmering black screen. She hastily ducks to avoid it. Her wide eyes follows its trajectory until it embeds itself in the jacquard wallpaper, even as her body suddenly locks together and falls back into the chair awkwardly. With a long-suffering sigh, Walburga’s father waves his wand and maneuvers her into a more dignified position. 

“I’ve only cast the killing curse twice,” Lucy says into the silence. “Once, when I was eleven and again when I was fifteen, to make sure it wasn’t a one off thing. It doesn’t work like that, of course. You’ve only got to mean it.”

She smiles down wryly at Walburga’s wand; red oak, uncommonly long, and extremely rigid. A perfect match for a bold, tempestuous woman set in her ways. 

“It takes a lot of hatred and indifference to cast the curse successfully. You have to really want the person- or animal, in my case- dead. No hesitation. No sympathy. Just an all encompassing desire to erase them from existence. Voldemort can cast it on anyone as easy as breathing. It’s why his followers are so terrified of him. Nothing they can do will ever change his mind when the time comes. All life is meaningless to him. There is nothing that could ever make him fail to cast it.

“There are only two people in the world that I could do that to so easily. Sure, I could cast it on anyone, but it would take a moment. I would have to justify it. I would have to make myself hate them to the point that I would no longer care about how it would affect their families. And you, Walburga Black, have the honor of being one of those two people.”

The men in the room immediately turn their wands on Lucy. Slowly, so very, very slowly, she places both of wands on the table. The soft click of wood seems to echo through the room. 

“I can’t think of a reason you shouldn’t be dead. Regulus loves you. You’re his mother. But I can’t bring myself to care. When I try, all I can think about is how much better his life would be without you in it. What have you ever done for him? What have you ever done for anyone? The only thing you’ve accomplished in your life is giving birth to your sons and they are the men they are in spite of you, not because of you, so I’m not sure that even counts. 

“I want-“ Lucy scowls when her voice catches, and then curses as she realizes her eyes are burning with tears. She rushes to wipe them away before they can fall. 

“I want to tell you how much I love Sirius, how much just thinking of him makes me feel like I’m going to burn from the inside out. I want to tell you what it feels like when I look at Regulus, how I’m overtaken by this...this _awe_ and wonder at how someone like him could even exist, how when I think of what they could do, what they could be if they were together, but it won’t do any good. You’ll just screech and scream because you’re so _stupid_. Your sons could go down in history. They could be legends, but _you don’t care_. You’re worthless and bitter and so you want them to worthless and bitter to make yourself feel better and I want to kill you for it. I want to watch the light leave your eyes. I want to watch the weight of your existence leave their shoulders. Because that’s all you are and all you will ever be. You’re a deadweight that will pull them into an early grave.”

Lucy is sure they can hear her heart thundering. Her chest is heaving with her short, heavy breaths and her arms are prickling with power. The last time she felt like this there was a snake dead at her feet and a blood-stained ghost staring into her eyes. 

The Baron. The Baron would tell her to leave. He would hold up his arms and clank his manacles until reason came back to her. 

Lucy closes her eyes and takes a long, deep breath. She thinks Nymph’s hair fading from pink to yellow, of Ted’s warm hugs, Andromeda’s arms covered in flour, Sirius’s barking laugh, and Coco’s twitching ears. She doesn’t open her eyes until her heart is calm and her mind is as blank and smooth as a shadow. 

She can’t look at Regulus. Instead, she meet’s Arcturus’s fierce gaze. It’s probably for the best if she doesn’t try to puzzle out why the wretched old man looks so ardent. 

“I’m going to take my wand and go,” she tells him. 

He nods, shifting his weight on his cane.

“Until next time, Lucille Tonks.”

Lucy nods, picks up her wand, and calmly steps into the hall. It takes everything in her not to look back over her shoulder. 

* * *

Pollux's curiosity finally explodes as the girl leaves without so much as a backwards glance. It‘s been brewing all day, since the Prophet this morning, but now...

He hadn’t known what to expect when Walburga flooed. He hadn’t known much about the girl other than her connection to his estranged granddaughter. And why would he? She was an overreaching mudblood who would move to France or America if she had any sense. Now, though. Now he’s interested. It’s been a long, long time since anything has been interesting enough to it catch his attention. No wonder Regulus was so quick to lay his claim. 

“Regulus, give me your ring,” Pollux orders, striding across the room. 

Regulus snorts as he finally looks away from the door. “You won’t get into her flat.”

"No, but I can follow her everywhere else. ELF!"

The stooped, ugly house elf appears at Regulus's side with a soft _crack_ of apparition.

"I require muggle clothing. Nothing too fine. I need to blend in, not stand out."

The elf glances up at Regulus for permission. It doesn't move until its master gives it a smile. The soft fool.

"I'm warning you," Regulus says, "I watched her break through parseltongue wards lain by Salazar himself. You will die if you try to break in."

Nonetheless, he still twists the ring from his finger and drops it into Pollux’s waiting hand. He tilts his head to the side as if listening to something far off. Feeling the wards, Pollux knows. No one gets in or out of Grimmauld without the knowledge of its lord. Regulus, for all of his youth, is the head of the family. Four years past, a convocation was called upon Orion's diagnosis. Even then Orion knew that Sirius Orion would flee. They could either try to manipulate the boy out of his ethics or make Regulus into a leader. Sirius, for all of his faults, was never a follower. He is a Black to his core, no matter how hard he tries to deny it. The Tonks girl said it herself: " _He is his mother's son._ "

Pollux can't be bothered to spare a glance for his harebrained daughter, let alone a thought. She's always been a fool. Arcturus's youngest, Regulus I, was the only one of his generation with any sense, but that damn auror slaughtered him in the middle of Crescent Street. Her death had been particularly satisfying.

"She's gone," Regulus announces. 

Pollux nods and sweeps out of the room without a word. The trick to tracking charms is to not place them directly on the victim. It should be something they will wear everyday: a scarf, cufflinks, a hair ribbon. Or in this particular case, the soles of their shoes. Once outside, Pollux casts a disillusionment charm and then focuses on the charm he placed, centering himself around its beckoning call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The ladies of the House of Black have always been formidable" - quote from one of my favorite fics: Charlotte the Great and Terrible by Evandar. It's a fantastic one-shot that served as a major inspiration for this fic. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694820
> 
> Next up: Pollux meets a vampire and wears a tracksuit.


	15. Fear of the Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually hate when terms like “the girl” or “the boy” are used as descriptors in fanfics, but in this case Pollux is literally thinking of people as “the girl” or “the vampire” or “the necromancer”. It takes a lot for him to see people as people instead of objects.

Pollux is surprised to arrive in the Leaky Cauldron. He almost panics when a quick scan does not reveal any short, voluptuous blondes dressed in cutting shades of scarlet and charcoal. There is, however, a full-figured redhead in all black, stomping through the pub in basilisk skin boots with a tracking charm on the soles. It's a good enough glamour. Very subtle. Stronger jaw, thicker brows, thinner lips. Lucille Tonks has made herself into no-one.

She leads him on a merry chase down Diagon, past Gringotts, and into the bowels of Knockturn. He briefly wonders if she’s trying to throw him off, but after winding through a labyrinth of grimy streets, she enters a nondescript apothecary. The shop is dark and oddly clean smelling. Places like these, especially in Knockturn, usually carry a herbal scent strong enough to induce headaches. The store might have been mistaken for a front if it weren’t stocked full of illicit ingredients.

The girl seems familiar enough with the store. She walks directly to the far wall, picks out three merchild scales, and hurries up to till. The reason for the shop’s strange lack of stench is suddenly revealed. A muscular vampire with slavic features stands at the counter. His onyx eyes catch Pollux’s gaze for half a beat.

To Pollux’s surprise, the girl strikes up a conversation with the vampire as he counts out her coins. The whole situation is astounding. Mudbloods do not make potions that require illegal ingredients. They don't go to Knockturn for said ingredients. They do not know the streets like the back of their hand. And they certainly do not greet the non-human proprietors of some back alley apothecary like old friends.

“How’s it going?” She asks.

“Bad,” the vampire says. His voice is as deep and accented as Pollux hoped it would be. “I read my true love is betrothed in paper.”

"Yeah, well, I've had a shit day too, Timmy. Goblins and in-laws back to back. Will you eat them for me?"

"No. I make you vampire and you eat all in-laws you wish."

The girl’s lips twitch. "Not goblins?"

The vampire wrinkles his nose. "Goblins have thick blood. I do not like texture."

"So they're gloopy?"

"Da.”

"Ew."

Timmy nods. "Ew."   


Tonks pockets the paper bag and her change, but makes no move to leave. She props her chin on her fist and eyes a poster behind the counter. ‘ _Join the Society for the Tolerance of Vampires_ ’ flashes in a bold black print over a red background. Every few seconds, a fanged silhouette pops in from the corner to wave. Pollux wants to burn it.

"You ever been so tired you don't even want to put the effort into going home?"

"You stay here with me. My bed is very warm."

"That was one of your better lines. Very smooth. Seven out of ten."

Timmy, the handsome, looming vampire with a disappointing name, bares his fangs in a smile. The girl mirrors his expression, eliciting an amused huff.

"I give you fangs, Lucy," he counters, grinning madly. "If only you ask."

Tonks rolls her eyes. “There are better paths to immortality. I’m out of here, Timmy.”

“Dasvidania, malenkaya gadyuka.”

Interesting. They’re close enough to have pet names. An ex-lover, perhaps?

The vampire doesn’t bother pretending to be a gentleman. His preternaturally dark eyes latch onto her backside and never stray as she walks to the door. Pollux follows his gaze. He’s always preferred men over women, but he is an aesthete if nothing else. Lucille Tonks is beautiful. If only Regulus had the good sense to keep her as a mistress, Pollux wouldn’t be skulking around Knockturn with a vampire and a mudblood. Then again, Regulus wouldn’t be worthy of the Black name if he weren't so dramatic.

Unbidden, memories of Sirius Orion’s antics rise, an acidic bile that blisters the back of his throat. He scowls and forces it down, intent on getting out the door before it closes. Thankfully, the girl is too tired to notice anything amiss.

At least, that’s what he thinks until she comes to an abrupt halt outside the shop.

“Oh, fuck me,” she curses under her breath. Louder she calls, “Hello, Uncle. No need to be shy.”

Corban Yaxley slips out from the shadows of an alley across the cobbled street. Pollux hadn’t noticed him. He looks remarkably like his father, which is to say that he looks completely unremarkable. Dull hair, dull eyes, dull robes. Pollux bites back a sigh and settles himself against the brick wall. This debacle is bound to be _dull_.   


Tonk’s glamor fades with each step she takes. From his vantage point, all Pollux can make out is her long hair fading to blonde, but he can see Yaxley’s sneer deepen in an attempt to hide his appreciation. Fool. There is no denying her beauty, just as there is no denying Tom Riddle’s power.

“I’m glad to see you so soon,” she says, peering around his shoulder. “Did you stop by for a spot of tea?”

A man wearing a necromancer’s amulet watches from under the striped awning of ‘The Last Drop’. Three hags smirk in his shadow, happy to witness two wizards make fools of themselves. Even the vampire slips outside to lean back against his grimy window. He crosses his thick arms and nods at Pollux in greeting.

“Congratulations, Uncle,” Tonks says. “I thought it was one of the Blacks tailing me, but it looks like I’ve underestimated your cunning.”

Yaxley grips his wand tighter and glances around the street. Fierce pride burns through Pollux’s veins. They like to say that his great house is falling, but they still fear its very name.

“Or not," she says with a frown.

She takes three steps back and raises her wand in a traditional dueling stance. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with. I’m-“

Her taunting words are interrupted by a jet of acid blue light. It flies over her shoulder and melts a patch of the brick wall.

It’s a boring fight. Both of them are tediously average. Yaxley is more powerful and has better reflexes, but Tonks makes up for it with her unique spells. That black shield of hers is nearly impenetrable. She’s stiff, however, and it’s painfully obvious that most of her spell chains are memorized. She’s good at dodging, though. Pollux is willing to bet half his vault that she’s spent her summers ducking and side-stepping Sirius Orion’s stinging hexes. The curses graze her, but don’t manage to hit. Blood wells from her cheek and lock of swinging hair is singed off, but she continues to duck and pivot and lunge with surprising endurance for someone of her stature.

Finally, after nearly ten minutes of lackluster dueling, one of Yaxley’s spells collides with her left side. Someone watching from a second story windows boos dispassionately. A sickening crunch sounds. It’s immediately drowned out by a shrill scream as Tonks curls in on her left arm. Yet a curse barrels from her wand even as she cries out in pain. Yaxley, shocked, conjures a hasty shield. The lurid spell dissolves against it, but another follows in the next instant. It is almost invisible, nothing more than a shimmer of heat.

The Imperius Curse spears through Yaxley’s shield and pierces his stomach.

The effects are instantaneous. He unfolds from his defensive crouch and lowers his wand arm. His bland features smooth out in subservience as he straightens to his full height.

Lucille flicks her wand and his lands at her feet. She quickly casts a flurry of spells on her ruined arm. A splint appears down her brachium and a sling materializes around her shoulder. Sweat glistens on her temple as she bends down to pocket his wand.

“Answer my questions honestly,” she orders as she stands. Everyone shuffles forward to better hear. A few even lean precariously out their open windows.

“Do you have any other weapons?”

“Yes. A dagger in my left trouser pocket.”

She tilts her head and surveys him with bored interest, cradling her broken arm. “Did the Dark Lord send you?”

“No, but he gave me permission.”

“Permission? Did you ask him?”

“Yes.”

Pollux smirks in time with the girl. He can imagine Yaxley simpering at Riddle’s feet, kissing the hem of his dark robes, begging ‘oh please milord, won’t you please let me kill the little mudblood?’.

“Did someone follow? To watch?”

The audience looks around, peering at one another with interest. Pollux glances questioningly at the vampire. He shakes his head sharply. He either senses no one or does not care to tell.

“I do not know.”

Lucille sighs. “Then what the hell are you good for?”

“I am wealthy, hold three Wizengamot seats, and have close family connections in Germany and Bulgaria.”

“How boring. Tell me, Corban Yaxley, what do you regret the most in your life?”

“I impregnated a muggle whore in Munich. She birthed my firstborn. He is the top of his class at Beauxbatons but does not know my name.”

Her pale brows rise. "Interesting. Would you like me to tell him?"

"No. He is better off without me."

"I think a lot of people will be better off without you." She studies him from head to toe, her tongue darting out to swipe at her lips. "Take out your dagger."

Yaxley arms himself without a hint of hesitancy.

"Slit your throat."

He obeys just as easily. The knife digs into the pale skin of his neck. Crimson blood wells around the steel blade. His hand tightens, preparing to slice, but then the vampire is there, wrenching Yaxley's arm out of it's socket and replacing the dagger with mouth. His full lips darken with blood as Yaxley's head falls back against his shoulder.

" _Finite_ ," Lucille intones.

Yaxley jolts as the curse drops. The vampire's arms flex, trapping his prey, and Yaxley screams. His hoarse wails reverberate down the narrow street. The hags break into delighted laughter. Someone drops down from the window. He staggers forward, enthralled by the blood and agony, until a female vampire follows after and tugs him back.

It takes a long time for Corban Yaxley to die. Not once does the audience look away. Not once does he look away from the girl, pain and pleading in his eyes, and not once does she look away from him. Just when his dying screams start to become annoying, Yaxley dies with one last gurgle. His fine robes darken with filth as soon as his body hits the cobbled streets.

The vampire smiles. Blood marbles against his teeth and drips out of the corner of his wide mouth. His onyx eyes have turned a deep, haunting crimson. 

" _Vkusno_ ," he murmurs sensuously, stepping over the body. "I wonder will your blood be as sweet as your kisses, little viper? Or will you burn with venom?"

Pollux grins. Finally, something worth his attention.

Lucille angles her body to the side and raises her wand. "Calm down mate. You gotta keep it in your pants or I’ll have to hurt you.”

"It will be worth it. To burn with taste of virgin blood on my tongue."

"Tihomir," the necromancer cautions. The emerald in his amulet gleams in the dull light as he steps forward. "Tihomir, do not make me step in. I will not let you bring the House of Black down upon us."

In the tense silence, a clap rings down the street.

A well dressed elderly man steps out from the shadows. His vicious grin cuts as sharp as any blade. Pollux remembers Cassius Nott from his time at school. He was cutting kneazles open by their second year and forcing mudblood girls into broom closets in their fourth. Crass, really. Pollux is no stranger to cruel urges, but he's never been so boorish about it. True violence is an art.

Nott waves his wand at the vampire, freezing him in place. Clever little spell, that. Wizards often forget the older hexes in favor of new, brutal curses.

“My, my, Lucille. You do not disappoint.”

Lucille does not look up, even as Nott strides to her side. He reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Distaste pools on Pollux’s tongue. It is a twisted reflection of how Regulus had flirted with her over tea. 

“Blood-crazed vampires, heroic necromancers, and botched revenge. How very fascinating. Was Yaxley your first kill?"

“Yes.”

“Mmm,” he hums, ghosting his wrinkled hand over her hair. The hand trails down to curl into her waist and he pulls her close. "The vampire could be your second. Tell me, have you really kissed him? I wouldn’t blame you. He is a fine specimen."

Pollux scoffs and pushes off of the wall, removing his disillusionment spell as he strolls into the street. Lucille’s eyes widen and she takes a step towards him almost reflexively. Her captor tightens his hold. She stumbles into his side, hissing when her wounded arm collides with his chest.

“Still as uncouth as ever, I see,” Pollux says in lieu of a greeting.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Pollux Black, back from the dead. Exiled yourself to Dover, no? How quaint.”

“Yes,” Pollux drawls. “How dreadful to retire peacefully with your wife and children. It’s more than you can say. How many wives is it now? Six? Or is it five and Lucille will be your sixth?”

“Lucille won’t be anything,” she hisses.

Cassius tuts and digs his fingers into her ribs. Her lips pull back in a snarl just as feral as the vampire’s.

“Do it,” she taunts. “Take me. I want to see what they do.”

“Now, now, doll,” he croons. “You’re only betrothed. The Black-“

Pollux laughs. “You think my grandson gives a fuck? He’s half mad already.”

“Do you think I’m threatened by that meek boy you call an heir?”

“Oh, I’m not talking about Regulus,” Pollux says, flashing his teeth.

Nott hesitates. In a truly inspirational display of shrewdness, Lucille contorts her wrist into an almost unnatural angle to cast at the vampire. Just as he begins to move, she shoves her broken arm into Cassius’s chest and _runs_. The soles of her boots scrape against the damp street. Pollux holds out his arm, prepared to pull her into a side-along, but she veers to the left at the last moment. He only manages to get out a spiteful “To me, you stupid-“ before she disappears with a loud crack.

Pollux sighs up at the heavens. Foolish girl. He only meant to heal her at Grimmauld and set her free, but if she wants to be a cretin, that is her own business. The last thing he sees before disapparating is a spurt of blood and a lick of flame.   
  


* * *

  
The foyer of Grimmauld Place curls into place around him. He takes a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of his childhood home; lemon and wood polish and the metallic tang of blood magic. This is how his cousin and grandson find him, eyes closed and head thrown back to breathe in the smell of nobility. He doesn’t bother to look their way until the sharp sounds of loafers against the wooden stairs soften on the foyer carpet.

“I’m too old to go mucking about with the poor,” he grumbles. 

Arcturus snorts. Regulus hooks his arm into his to lead him into the sitting room. Sunlight spills through the velvet curtains, casting a warm glow onto the plum interior. He allows himself to be lowered into a bergère with silver tassels. He doesn’t need the assistance; he isn’t quite that old just yet. It’s simply nice to be held by his grandson. They’re down two grandchildren already and the remaining three are entangled in the war.

“Lucille is most certainly not poor,” Regulus says, perching on the matching ottoman. “Did she lead you on a merry little chase?”

“You sound far too amused by that notion.”

Arcturus uses the cane to balance his weight as he sits. He’s only two and a half decades younger than Dumbledore. The average wizard lives to be around one hundred and forty years, but the more powerful among them can live over two hundred. Arcturus might have if he hadn’t had the bad luck of being head of the family during the war with Grindelwald. This will be their last war for the two of them, succeed or fail, but it will not be the last for the House of Black. Pollux will claw his way back through the veil if it falls.

“I do believe I may have become acquainted with your betrothed’s ex-lover. Nasty piece of work.”

Pollux really shouldn’t be surprised by Regulus’s fond smile. The boy is smitten. He might have feared amortentia if he hadn’t just watched the girl make a man slit his own throat. That’s exactly the sort of the thing that would captivate one of his godsforsaken kin. 

“She does have a type,” Regulus says.

“Yes. The tall, dark, and murderous sort if today was any indication. Elf! Water!”

“A murder, really?” Arcturus asks, his brows raised.

Pollux takes a sip of cold water and relaxes back into the chair.

“She went to a nondescript apothecary deep within Knockturn. Odd enough for a mudblood, but then she chats up the proprietor, who happens to be a vampire that would have given Arcturus a run for his money back in the day.”

“Is he Russian?” Regulus asks thoughtfully. “I thinks Severus might have recommended the place.”

“Slavic, at the very least. Called her his little viper in accented Russian. Latvian, perhaps.”

Regulus frowns in distaste. “Lucille isn’t a viper, and there certainly isn’t anything little about her.”

“Focus, son, focus,” Arcturus sighs. “This is not the time to indulge in your romantic tendencies.”

“After her purchase,” Pollux continues loudly, drowning out Regulus’s retort. “We found Corban Yaxley waiting to ambush her.”

Regulus groans and buries his head in his hands. “Please tell me he’s dead. I have better things to do than hunt Yaxleys over my holiday.”

“He’s dead,” he says drily. “It was an abysmal duel. We’ll have to work on that if you insist on bringing her into the family. She only won because Yaxley underestimated her and that will not always be the case.”

“How did she kill him?” Arcturus wonders.

“Baited him to raise a shield with simple curses and then followed up with an imperius.”

“Hm. Clever.”

Pollux nods. “Even more clever, she embarrassed him in front of their audience. It was nothing too interesting, I won’t bother to report it, but then she told him to slit his own throat. I was impressed.”

Regulus grins. “She’s very creative, my Lucy.”

“Very resourceful,” Pollux agrees. “Unfortunately, the vampire went into a blood craze at the first scent of blood. I suppose he was the one to technically end Yaxley, but she will be credited with the kill.”

“A blood craze? He attacked?”

“That’s when it became interesting. He taunted the girl- are you aware that she is a virgin?”

Regulus sighs. “Yes. She’s mentioned something about an old Roman ritual.”

Pollux blinks. His mind goes utterly blank.

“Really?!” Arcturus blurts, leaning forward on his cane. “How the hell did she learn about those?”

Regulus shrugs. “I believe she may be second only to the Dark Lord in her knowledge of rituals. In Britain, anyway. Though admirable, it makes life considerably more difficult for me.”

“Is she fertile? If she needs help conceiving-“

“Merlin, Grandfather, no! She just wants to fuel a crystal.”

“But-“

“Focus, Grandfather, focus.”

Pollux smirks at his cousin’s curdled expression. 

“Oh, carry on, Pollux,” Arcturus grumbles.

Pollux rolls his eyes. “The vampire turned on the girl, at which point a necromancer got involved.” Here, he pauses for effect, relishing in their rapt attention. “He said that he wouldn’t allow the vampire to bring the House of Black down on their heads.”

All three of them preen enough to put a Malfoy to shame. It’s almost embarrassing, but no one would dare to say it to their faces. Pollux is immensely regretful that he must ruin the moment with the mention of someone as base as Cassius Nott.

“But then Cassius Nott stepped out of the shadows like some decrepit creature and made himself involved.” 

“How hasn’t he been murdered yet?!” Arcturus demands, at the same time Regulus asks, “Do I get to hunt down Nott?”

Arcturus rounds on him. “You think yourself capable of assassinating Cassius Nott?”

“I’d almost rather not,” Regulus says, smirking at his awful pun. They really should have cut Sirius Orion’s tongue out at birth. It would have saved them a lot of trouble. “The Dark Lord is fond of his Knights, but I could do with a challenge.”

“How?”

“It would probably be too easy, really. Get Lucy to create a gap in his wards, kill him in his sleep, and raze his estate to the ground. I don’t imagine anyone would be too upset to see his line end. It’s the least he deserves.” He cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. “We should have married Narcissa to him. She’d have made herself pregnant and poisoned him within the first month.”

Arcturus grunts. “I doubt it. She’s yet to bear Malfoy an heir.”

“The Malfoys have never been known for their virility,” Pollux points out. Narcissa has always been his favorite, being the last and quietest of her sisters. “It doesn’t matter. None of this will be necessary just yet. He’ll need watching, but Tonks escaped. She unpetrified the vampire while I was trying to rescue her. The gall! I meant for her to come with me, but she disapparated on her own.”

“Was she well?” Regulus asks.

“A few cuts, and it looked as though her arm was in shambles.”

Regulus sighs. “Of course it was.”

He abruptly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. After several moments, he raises his wand and intones, “ _Expecto_ _patronum_.”

A broad, shaggy creature with round ears and spotted fur jumps from his wand. Everyone had been immensely proud when Regulus first managed a patronus, but they were just as puzzled. No one could have guessed a hyena, let alone a female one. A little research cleared any confusion. It made perfect sense. Hyenas are matriarchal creatures, hence the gender, and they are brutal, cunning killers. Lions rip and tear at their prey. Hyenas break bones and eat them alive. 

"Find Severus Snape," Regulus orders. "Tell him Lucy is injured at her flat. He'll need skele-gro at the least."

The beast inclines its head and bounds through the window. Regulus slumps on his stool.

"That's getting harder to manage."

Arcturus grunts. "Like it's any skin off your back when you can just blast fiendfyre at them."

"Well, yes, but I can't show off my mastery of fiendfyre, can I? It's not worth the trouble of bribing my way out of Azkaban."

"Vain creature," Arcturus says fondly. "Who is this Severus Snape?"

"Dear Salazar," Pollux gripes. "If you two are going to gossip like a pair of old crones, I'm going to soak in a bath and scrub the stench of poverty away. Merlin knows where she'll lead me tomorrow."

Regulus cocks a brow. "You realize she'll take the tracking charm off?"

Pollux hums noncommittally as he rises from his chair. At least three of her bones were shattered and she was nearly snatched by a man infamous for murdering his wives and their newborn daughters. A tracking charm will be the last thing on her mind.   
  
  


* * *

Muggles are bizarre.

It is all Pollux can think as he stares at his reflection in the mirror. The clothes are comfortable. He'll give them that. They're made of something that resembles velvet yet conforms to the body with much more ease. The shoes aren't very thick or warm, but they fit just as well as his custom-made boots _before_ the charms.

It's the style that has him so perplexed. Both the trousers and the jacket are made of the same putrid pea green, which is displeasing on its own, but there are bold jagged stripes across the chest in equally horrible shades of orange and brown. There are even more stripes on the outer seam of the trouser leg. It is hideous. He would not even leave the house if he had not taken Polyjuice.

The disguise alone is disconcerting. Even nearing eighty Pollux has a thick head of lustrous gray hair. Blacks do not go bald. This stranger has a receding hairline and dull, tawny freckles. Pollux has never been mediocre in his life. It’s revolting, revolting enough that he refuses to be seen in such a state. He focuses on that flare of alien awareness in the back of his mind and spins on his heel.

The guest room of Grimmauld Place is replaced by a dark, wide alley. A ragged man freezes from where he is rummaging in an overflowing dumpster. Face distorted in disgust, Pollux flicks his wand at the man. Green light illuminates the alley and then the creature is slumped against the brick wall.Filthy animals.

Pollux finds himself overtaken with the greatest sense of dread. Regulus said the girl isn’t poor, but she is obviously comfortable with destitute conditions and the muggles are nowhere near as advanced as some would like to believe. What if there are more of those scraggy, filthy men crawling around the streets?

In any case, Pollux is a Black. One of the more unsettling ones, too. Where Arcturus was all proud confidence and blunt truths, Pollux served as his aide-de-camp. Some threats are meant to be disposed of publicly. Others require a more surreptitious end. People fear the unknown, after all, and Pollux has always been fascinated with the more esoteric branches of magic. He may not be a blustering Gryffindor, but he is no coward. He holsters his wand and steps out into the street.

He need not have feared. The street is clean and bright. Shiny automobiles line the pavement and uniformed muggles guard pristine glass doors. Pollux cannot make out Lucille’s direct presence, only sense that she is in the general area, which must mean that she is in her home. He ducks back into the alley long enough to cast a disillusionment charm. He wonders, with idle amusement, how long it will be until the ragged man is discovered.

Back on the street, Pollux watches as women and children walk back, fussing and laughing. A few men pass by as well, almost all of them dressed in wide-legged trousers. It’s terrible. They should go back to how they dressed in the 20s and 30s. It was elegant enough to influence wizarding wear.

Finally, after an eternity, the tracking charm flares. Two teenagers exit a towering brick building to his right. Despite everything, Pollux can’t ignore the rush of emotion. It has been four years since he last saw Sirius Orion. A wild, mad urge, the likes of which he hasn’t had to suppress in decades, shouts to go greet him. There is a breathtaking dichotomy to Sirius’s features that is unique to the Blacks. Under the dark stubble and long hair and rebellious leather, there is a distinctly aristocratic beauty. He moves with an elegance that defies his charming boisterousness, which in turn masks the instability of his mind. Even from afar Pollux can make out the dangerous edge to his smile.

Lucille was right. He is a Black, no matter how much they all try to deny it.

Sirius strikes up an animated conversation with the doorman. His barking laugh echoes down the street, warming Pollux to the bone. The doorman puts a surprised, sheepish expression and follows up with something apologetic to Lucille. There are no bruises or cuts and she seems well rested. The only indication that she was injured is the sling cradling her arm close to her chest. She gives the doorman a smile that brings a blush to his cheeks, and then she and Sirius set off down the street.

There’s no reason to try and keep them in sight. Sirius is too clever and Lucille has spent years honing her instincts. She’ll sense him a mile off. Instead, he allows the tracking charm to guide his steps. He supposes he’ll have to apparate if they hire an automobile or hop on one of those underground trains. Ghastly, those are. He took one back before the Second World War and vowed to never take one again. His late cousin Regulus teased him about it for three months.

Thankfully, their destination is near enough to not merit transportation. It is also disappointing. He’d hoped for a clandestine vigilante meeting or an underground market ran by mudbloods. He did not expect a bright muggle diner advertising American food. Still, knowledge is power and neither of them will expect Pollux to dine at such a place. American, honestly. Italian or French would be too much to ask for.

Pollux pauses two buildings over to nab a copy of the Daily Mirror. Regulus's sapphire ring catches the green traffic light, eliciting a frown from Pollux. Powerful enchantments prevent an object from being transfigured, but he might get away with shrinking the jewel. He pretends to fumble with the newspaper to mask a quick spell. The sapphire goes down enough to be twisted around his finger, at least. Then, after a quick thought, he casts another spell to increase his hearing. One must always be prepared and willing to improvise. .

Inside, Pollux takes a moment to survey the diner. He has to admit that muggle establishments are much cleaner than wizarding ones. The serviette dispensers may as well be mirrors for how well they’re polished. Fortunately, almost every seat is taken except for a couple of stools at the bar, a booth next to the rubbish bin, and a table adjacent to Sirius and Lucille. He slips through the tables and lowers himself onto the hard plastic seat. Their voices come loud and clear through his hearing charm. They have yet to erect any privacy spells.

“Can’t it wait until we get back?” Lucille is pleading.

Over the menu- and dear Merlin, it’s comprised entirely of Americanisms- Pollux can barely make out her profile from his vantage point, but he’s nearly head-on with his scowling grandson.

“It’s been months. You promised you would give me answers back when I saved your arse in that cave.”

The girl sighs. “Yes, but it’s personal and-“

She trails off as a pretty waitress walks up to take their order. Lucille requests "my regular please, Maisie" but Sirius stumbles over the American terminology. Or pretends too. The waitress playfully corrects him, blushing fiercely when he smiles up at her. Lucille rolls her eyes and aims a kick at his shin. Amusingly enough, the waitress stiffens. She turns to Lucille with wide, horrified eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m engaged to his brother.”

“Oh! Oh, should I...will he be joining you?”

“No,” She says, obviously fighting off a smile. “We were friends before.”

A shit-eating grin spreads across Sirius’s face. “Yeah, Luce was family before she got with Reggie.”

Pollux coughs quickly to cover his laugh, eyes riveted to the menu. This Marlon Brando fellow is quite the specimen. The waitress finally leaves with their order. She makes her way over to Pollux and gives him a sweet smile. This close, he can see the freckles against her brown skin. She is still flushed from her earlier misstep. He’d have her blushing even more if it weren’t for his abhorrent disguise.

“Hello, luv. You ready or you need a mo’?”

“Yes, I’ll take the Marlon Brando.”

She clicks her pen. “Wouldn’t we all?”

He hums in agreement. “With orange juice. I won’t contaminate myself with whatever is in these ‘soda pops’.”

“I know, right?” She says, scribbling away. “The only bubbly drink I want is champagne.”

“Quite.”

She blinks in surprise, her eyes flashing down to his blinding ensemble.

“Never seen someone so posh in a tracksuit.”

He almost, _almost_ tells her that he’s stock full of surprises, but he manages to bite it down. Even he isn’t cruel enough to subjugate her to that while he’s looking like this.

“It’s comfortable.”

She nods. “‘Spose so. I’ll have your food out soon.”

He has the newspaper open before she turns away. Sirius and Lucille are still arguing in quiet voices at their table.

“...get angry,” she is saying, “and we’re in public, surrounded by muggles. You can’t freak out and turn into Padfoot.”

Turn into Padfoot? Could that mean he has become an animagus? They would have been notified if he were on the registry, but if he hadn’t registered... Pollux smirks at his newspaper. An animagus at seventeen! And he hadn’t bothered to register! Oh, the boy’s a Black, there’s no doubt about it.

“I’m not an idiot,” Sirius says.

“Of course not. But you’re...you’re you and I can’t risk Ministry attention right now.”

“I still can’t believe that old creep touched you.”

Lucille groans. “Don't remind me. I’m going to have to thank your grandfather for his help with that clusterfuck.”

“I still can’t believe that old creep helped you.”

“He is unsettling, isn’t he?”

“Distraction’s not going to work either, Tonks. I was brought up by Slytherins. I know every one of those sneaky tactics.”

“Not all of mine, you don’t. It’s what makes me so good. I expand on theirs with all of my mudblood-“

“You're going to have to do better than that. I hear you call yourself that all the time.”

There is a lull in their conversation. Pollux can imagine the girl scowling out the window while Sirius folds his arms across his chest in haughty victory.

“Fine,” she eventually relents. “But I want a vow.”

“Done.”

A third voice appears just as ceramic rattles against the tabletop. “Here’s your regular, Lucy, and the Ray Charles for you."

"Thanks," Sirius says, "we'll be fine until the check, love."

"Of course. Let me know if you need anything."

There is a low murmur and then a tingle of magic brushes against Pollux's skin. When Sirius speaks, his voice comes low and tinny through the privacy wards.

"So what do you want in this vow?" he asks.

"No interfering or repeating anything to anyone unless I die."

"No."  
  
"This isn't a negotiation, Sirius."

"That's ridiculous! What if you're put in a coma or-"

"Sev wouldn't let me waste away like that," she says dismissively. "You can take it or leave it."

"Eugh. Fine."

Just as soon as he beings to make a vow, the waitress reappears at Pollux's side to deliver his food. He nods his head in thanks without looking up from whatever article he's supposed to be reading. Some hogwash about a Northern Ireland. Preposterous. Why divide Ireland?

He focuses back in on Lucille and Sirius, just in time to hear an incredulous, "Does that mean he had a cockney accent?!"

"I'm never going to get through this if you keep interrupting."

"Fine. Go on."

And so Lucille weaves the tale of the Dark Lord. It isn't entirely unfamiliar to Pollux, but he listens closely anyway. She emphasizes odd details and reveals truths unknown to anyone other than perhaps the Dark Lord himself.

Tom Marvolo Riddle is an unloved, half-blood orphan raised by muggles. His caretakers and peers are scared of him, of the things he can do. Then he gets a letter and a visit and goes to Diagon Alley, where he buys secondhand robes and used books and a new wand with a core from Dumbledore himself. This boy, this sad, angry child, goes to Hogwarts. The castle becomes his home, but he is still as lonely as ever. His peers hate him for his name and power and blood.

But Tom Riddle is not weak. He works hard and he studies. He delves deeper into magic than any student before him. His teachers begin to love him and the students quickly follow. He is feared and admired in kind. And then, when he learns of his mother’s blood, he is revered. Soon after, he makes himself immortal. He is a god and he will shape the world in his image. He will make the world pay for all the wrongs it has done. 

Tom Riddle, however, is not a god. He is a human. He is mortal. Death will come for him, as it does everyone, and he fears it and hates it in kind. So when a prophecy is spoken, a prophecy about a vanquisher born as the seven month dies, he acts.

And later, she says, there is a boy who lives in a cupboard under the stairs. He is an unloved, half-blood orphan raised by muggles. His family and peers are scared of him, of the things he can do. Then he gets a letter and a visit and goes to Diagon Alley, where he gets a wand with a core from Dumbledore himself. This boy, this brave, hopeful child, goes to Hogwarts. The castle becomes his home, but he is still as lonely as ever. Tom Riddle was no one, but he turned this boy into someone, marked him as his equal and damned him to be feared and admired in kind.

He defeats the Dark Lord in his first year. There is talk of a stone and blood protections, but he is victorious in the end.

He defeats the Dark Lord in his second year. There is a diary and a basilisk and talk of “we even look something alike, you know”, but he is once again victorious.

His third year goes a bit differently. A dark wizard escapes from Azkaban to kill the boy. Everyone begs the boy to not hunt the wizard in kind, but he doesn’t understand why he would. Not until he learns the wizard is his godfather, that he was his parent’s secret keeper.

At long last, he confronts the wizard and uncovers the truth. His godfather was never the secret keeper. He proposed switching to someone less obvious at the last moment and for that he blamed himself. He served his penance in Azkaban until he saw the traitor in the paper.

In the end, the boy is not victorious. The traitor escapes.

The boy escapes the Dark Lord in his fourth year. There is a tournament and a ritual and a traitor and the Dark Lord is victorious. Yet the Boy-Who-Lived still lives.

He escapes the Dark Lord in his fifth year. There is a vision and a prophecy and a death and the boy is forever changed, but he lives. It is all his godfather would have wanted.

He eludes the Dark Lord in his sixth year. He studies him, learns how right the horcrux was all those years ago. “We even look something alike, you know.” He goes to a cave and comes back to find his home overrun with pests.

Dumbledore is murdered. The Dark Lord is victorious.

The boy does not have a seventh year. He is on the run. He is on the hunt. There are five horcruxes in total and it takes months to find them all. And then the final battle arrives, a double agent reveals his loyalties, and the Boy-Who-Lived learns that he must die. Raised like a pig for slaughter. So he walks into the Forest with his heart full and his hands shaking and he dies.

Harry Potter is victorious and he is dead.

“But none of that has to happen,” Lucille says, leaning earnestly over the table. “If we destroy the four horcruxes and lure him to Godric’s Hollow, he will-“

Sirius stands abruptly. He pushes out of the booth and walks stiffly to the exit. Pollux watches as his broad frame is swallowed by the crowd. He stares after his grandson for a long time, lost in his thoughts. He tries to imagine him as the filthy man from earlier. He fails. He cannot imagine Sirius living off of rats and covered in his own filth. He cannot imagine Regulus’s fierce snarl contorted into a scream as he ripped from limb to limb. He dare not imagine it. He dare not-

“Hello, Pollux.”

Pollux startles. His wand is in his hand and aimed without a thought. Lucille stands across from him with a wry smile. He glances down, expecting to be back in his own skin, but it is not so. The Polyjuice is still in full effect.

“How?” He asks.

She nods at his left hand, where the ring is turned down. 

“I’ve been in love with that ring for years. I’d know it anywhere.”

The red chair makes a scraping noise as she takes a seat.

“Did Sirius notice?”

Lucille snorts. “No. I told him I removed the tracking charm.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She hums and traces her finger along the table’s metal trim. Her nails are painted a deep shimmering indigo.

“You needed to know,” she finally says.

“Did you See that I needed to know?”

When she does not deign to answer, he slumps back in his seat and eyes her anew. All of her beauty and intelligence is nothing compared to her ability and her ability is nothing to how she uses it. Regulus’s infatuation makes a hell of a lot more sense.

“The Dark Lord would rip the world apart to get his hands on you.”

“He won’t.”

Pollux tuts disapprovingly. “Such arrogance.“

“Do you know why so many people are afraid of me?” She asks conversationally. 

“Because you are ruthless.”

Her brows furrow for a moment as she considers his answer. After a moment, she shakes her head. “People are afraid of Regulus because he’s ruthless. It’s different with me. Not more, just different. I’m everything they fear. I am a threat to their status quo. I could change their world to fit with the muggle one.”

“Stupid of them,” Pollux interrupts. “You don’t care about either of the worlds beyond how they serve you best. Yes it’s creative and cunning, but that isn’t what makes you dangerous. It’s that you are willing to burn both of those worlds to the ground if it means you and yours emerge unscathed. You are ruthless, my girl, and that is why they fear you. That is why Regulus is in love with you.”

Lucille seems to have been rendered speechless. She stares at Pollux with a face made of stone. Well. Best to leave while he’s ahead. If not, she’ll reveal something that will have him gaping like an idiot. He already looks foolish enough as it is.

Pollux reaches into his pocket and throws a handful of paper bills down on the table. Paper currency, honestly.

“Good day, Lucille. I expect I’ll see you soon.”

“Oh?” She asks, licking her lips nervously. It’s a tell of hers. They’ll have to train it out of her.

“They already fear our name, Lucy. Imagine how they will cower when it is the House of Black that vanquishes a dark lord.”

It is better than imagining how they would have pitied them in this future of hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear God, that last scene was difficult to write. 
> 
> Please let me know if my Russian is incorrect. I tried to go beyond Google translate but it’s difficult when languages have different alphabets. 
> 
> And I probably could have cut the scene at Grimmauld Place but whatevs. I was missing Regulus.


End file.
